


Then Somebody Bends, Unexpectedly

by invective



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Dragon Wu Yi Fan | Kris, Historical Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 20:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10794495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invective/pseuds/invective
Summary: It's a tale as old as time.





	Then Somebody Bends, Unexpectedly

**Author's Note:**

> Dan Stevens made me cry a lot while writing this. I hope the prompter enjoys!
> 
> (Prompt #57)

Siwon’s heart ached for his steed. The journey wasn’t supposed to take longer than a fortnight, and yet here Chanyeol was, huffing and puffing through the storm. Siwon had already climbed off of the horse’s back, helping to push the wooden cart through the mud. Such efforts weren’t enough. It was impossible to see through the torrents of rain and the thickness of vegetation. All they needed was a nice cave to curl up into so they could wait out the precipitation. Alas, it seemed as though fate wasn’t on their side.

Truth be told, it was Siwon’s own fault that he was trapped in such a mess. Had he not been so optimistic, he would’ve been in the safe warmth of the orphanage reading with Junmyeon by candlelight in comfortable silence, while Chanyeol slept in his stable. Once word reached him that one of his ships, thought to be lost at sea, had reached port, however, he had to see for himself. While Siwon hoped desperately that charity might be enough to help keep his makeshift orphanage afloat, he knew that would not be the case. His ship, one of four, was a massive investment — to say nothing of the goods on board. He had wanted to bring the children gifts from what he could salvage ( _Promised, even!_ he despaired). New dancing shoes for little Jongin. Paints for Taeyeon. Perhaps a new quiver for his blood son, Minho. All Junmyeon had asked for was a rose. _That_ , at the very least, Siwon could manage.

When he arrived to the port city, however, he’d found his ship in splinters, and with half its men on board. The first mate told him it had been struck by a typhoon, requiring all of their goods to be dumped overboard in order to alleviate weight. He said that it was a miracle that it was even able to sail. Siwon supposed that he could appreciate miracles.

Nevertheless, the absence of cargo meant that he had lost millions, and he would have to return empty-handed to his charges. If he had known that would be the outcome, he never would’ve gone, and if he did, it certainly wouldn’t have been with his cart. Chanyeol was a young stallion, thankfully, capable of making the trip from town, through the forest, to the city, and back with no problem. It still would’ve been best, though, that the horse was without its massive wooden burden. Each labored breath the animal took made his heart twist in sympathy.

“Almost there,” Siwon whispered, patting the beast’s mane. Chanyeol snorted and bucked his hooves, struggling to forge onward.

The rain pierced through the treetops to soften the dirt lining the floor. It became difficult to walk, requiring lifted knees, and then they were halted by a jerk that had Siwon stumbling forward. The cart was stuck — one wheel was sunken into the mud, while another failed to roll over a sizable rock. As he moved back to untangle the contraption, a creature’s cry broke through the note. He froze, as did Chanyeol. His blood ran cold.

A wolf.

A creature seldom solitary in these parts.

As if reading his thoughts, the pack howled in unison. The sound was frightfully close. Chanyeol panicked, rearing on his hind legs to throw off the massive weight on him. Siwon scrambled forward and ran his fingers as best he could along his equine neck. The touch did little to calm his steed fully, but Chanyeol resumed utilizing all four of his legs, shifting about on his feet. Siwon tried through clumsy fingers to unhitch the cart. He struggled to move the wooden posts from the rope, and as he managed to extract the apparatus, he caught sight of several pairs of glowing yellow eyes between the trees. A spark of fear raced up his spine and he swung himself onto Chanyeol’s back. The hardness of the saddle between his legs was a pain he ignored. He gave Chanyeol a light kick in the horse’s ribs, and he sped off.

Almost at once, the wolves snapped after them. The marshy nature of the environment was both a blessing and a curse. Chanyeol slipped and slid along the forest floor, but their pursuers did so as well. He gathered no traction with his hooves, and Siwon was more than sure that he couldn’t see where he was going, either. They sprinted off through the dark. It seemed like mere instinct allowed Chanyeol to duck and weave through the low-hanging branches, though one nearly managed to sweep Siwon off his back, were it not for a well-timed duck.

The wolves were hot on their heels. A pair were able to snap and scratch at Chanyeol’s chestnut flanks, imminent danger with bared teeth and claws. Siwon managed to kick one in the snout, sending the carnivore tumbling away with a yelp, but the sense of victory was short-lived. They were still wandering aimlessly through a pitch black forest in the dead of night. He could only pray that they were heading towards its edge rather than deeper within it. Lost in thought, he missed the wolf creeping up along Chanyeol’s left. It leapt, intending to clamp down on the horse’s neck, but Chanyeol’s last-minute turn away caused the movement to misfire. A talon caught along SIwon’s back, making him cry out in agony. It was a shallow wound, but the fact didn’t negate the pain. Chanyeol managed to knock the other wolf back with a hind leg, at the cost of his balance and acceleration. It was a stroke of luck that none of the other lupine creatures were nearby.

The horse quickly righted itself and surged forward. Siwon turned back, half to examine the depth of his wound, and half to count how many more animals they had chasing after them. To his surprise, he saw the last of the wolves careening off in the direction it and its pack came from. Panicked, the group all nearly crashed into one another. Never once did it occur to him to wonder why they were so scared.

He leaned forward to whisper in Chanyeol’s ear, “Shush, boy, calm down. They’ve left us alone.” The wolves might’ve let up, but the weather certainly didn't. Lightning struck a nearby tree, sending it toppling down before them in flames. The mount was still at a full gallop, and the sudden obstacle had him scrambling for a new path opened by the fallen timber. If they had any other choice, if the main road wasn’t completely blocked off, Siwon would’ve tugged him backwards. But as it stood, the only way to go forward was through the new route.

Chanyeol finally came to a stop in a dim clearing where practically nothing was visible, to his rider’s dismay. The moon, although full, provided little light through the treetops. He was also sure that they were both still startled and terrified by their close proximity to the lightning. Siwon dismounted, wincing at the pain that laced up his back from the movement. What adrenaline that had been numbing his agony was gone. He landed on solid ground.

“Well,” the merchant muttered to himself. “It seems the world still _does_ have miracles to offer.” He patted along the hardness of Chanyeol’s saddle. Finding the moderately-sized satchel he’d attached that morning, he made a small noise of gratification. He switched his attire for the spares held within the brown sack and stuffed his bloodied clothes inside. He dug his arm further in and pulled out a bundle of lighting sticks. He had no candle with which to light, but hoped the dozen or more would be enough to illuminate his way to shelter. The rain no longer pelted him — in fact, to his joy, it was even beginning to cease.

Siwon slid his knapsack over his shoulder and strode forward. He struck a match along the ray-skin seat, quickly covering the flame with his hand. Once sure that the wind wouldn’t blow it out, he lifted his fingers. The brightness of the match wasn’t optimal, but he’d have to make do. He wasn’t going to use up all of them at once.

Arm extended halfway, he held the match out and hoped it would light up something useful. He turned slowly to the right, and to his surprise, found a stone wall. He stretched on his toes and found that it extended rather far up. There was a sign at eye-level covered in moss, which he wiped away with his sleeve. Chanyeol trotted to the side. Siwon squinted at the characters, striking another match to brighten his view.

“Ban… wol… seong,” he read slowly, and Chanyeol whinnied. He lifted his head, and the horse nudged a wooden door with a hoof. His eyes widened. _Wood_. He reached over and tested its sturdiness. It didn’t take much to snap a piece off, and it also wasn’t very time-consuming to break off the moist outer layer to reveal coarse dryness underneath. He reached back into his knapsack and tore some cloth away from his shirt with his teeth. He tied it around the top of the wooden plank he’d ripped from the door, the matches trapped between his teeth. He raised his new invention to his mouth and lit the cloth, finding himself with a torch. He dropped the matches to the floor and stamped them out.

Chanyeol did not look very impressed, but was evidently glad that the light being offered by his master wasn’t just two small circles. The two walked side by side through the gates of Banwolseong, and saw that they were in a garden. There were a variety of flowers scattered around, and Siwon saw that the most abundant of them were white roses. Remembering his promise to Junmyeon, he carefully plucked one and deposited it into his sleeve. He would have at least one gift to give to his children at home.

For now, however, they needed shelter. He made a beeline for the large stone structure laid before him. His hands gripped the horse’s reins slightly, but the beast of burden refused to cooperate. Chanyeol made noises akin to whines and tried to pull away. His resistance only got worse as they neared what Siwon assumed to be the main palace, whereupon Chanyeol lifted up on his back legs, shrieked, and rocketed off in the opposite direction.

“Oh no,” Siwon said, voice small. “That’s not good.” He hoped the horse didn’t just run back towards danger, but it was too dangerous to go out looking for him, especially as his torch was beginning to flicker. The rain was going to start again. Best to lay low for whatever hours of night remained and look for Chanyeol in the morning.

With long strides, he sped with haste toward the palace. He pushed at the doors with all of his strength, surprised and thrown off balance when they gave way easily. Siwon flailed, barely catching his fall with his arms. The room was completely dark, with the only light source being a cloudy moon and what little his torch produced. He sighed. “I should’ve gathered some more wood before coming in here…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. _We’ll_ take care of you.”

Siwon startled, bolting upright from his hunched position on the floor. “Who’s there?” he called. There had been no indication that other people dwelt in the palace — but these presences might’ve been the ones who chased Chanyeol away. Animals, he had learned, were always more perceptive than man.

“ _Hush_ , Jongdae. Don’t go offering aid to random people you don’t know!”

“ _Not_ offering aid to a random person we didn’t know is what got us into this mess in the first place, Minseok.”

“Who’s there?” Siwon said again, raising his voice. He thrust his torch forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the other side of the room. All he saw was a large contraption — some sort of clock, if the ticks and lines along the rim of the dish were any indication — and a candle sitting atop it. He swung the torch around, but there was nothing else, save for a pair of thrones and several mats on the floor. From the looks of it, this was Banwolseong’s audience chamber. The information was useless, and he still hadn’t found the owners of the voices.

“Aw, you had it right the first time,” said the voice called Jongdae.

Siwon whirled around him. Again, nothing but the globe-like object and a candle. “What? Show yourself!”

On its own, the bowl turned upward, exposing a face made of stars, and the candle hopped onto the floor to avoid being flung off. “We might as well give up,” the clock said, “since he’s already seen us.” Minseok.

Well, that was not what Siwon expected at all.

“This is the part where you pinch yourself,” the candle said.

Instead, Siwon sneezed. Loudly.

That seemed to incite Minseok’s maternal instincts, because the clock started toddling over to him and muttering about the blasted cold. The candle started to follow with little bounces. The candlestick tugged on the hem of Siwon’s pants with its two arms, urging him further in. Its head lit up and the candles along the wall of the chamber brightened in unison. Siwon blinked. He had to be dreaming.

Before he realized it, he was being tugged over and planted onto a mat. A table waddled to him and plates fluttered over with food. A pair of chopsticks rolled into his hand. Yup. _Definitely_ dreaming. This conclusion didn’t stop him from picking some kimchi and putting it in his mouth though, because a hungry man would not turn down free dinner. And he was still just completely flummoxed. It certainly _tasted_ real.

“Eat up, eat up,” Jongdae insisted gregariously. It plopped itself, vaulted by a spoon, right beside Siwon’s utensils. “We never get visitors anymore. You wouldn’t happen to be a wizard, would you?”

“I… no?” Siwon garbled through a mouthful of food. “What on earth would you need a wizard for?” 

“Jongdae!” Minseok’s shout made the both of them jump. The talking clock sighed, then approached Siwon plaintively. Siwon watched it, brows furrowed. “Apologies for my brother’s… manners. You see, we weren’t always like this. We —”

Anything else the other intended to say was cut off by the doors banging open. Siwon jumped, alarmed, and turned to look at what caused the noise.

It was the most fearsome beast he had ever seen.

It approached them with slow, steady movements. Rather than walk, it prowled, golden eyes gleaming viciously in the dark. Almost at once, Siwon was certain he was going to die at that thing’s hands.

“What,” said the horror, smoke escaping its mouth as it spoke, “is going on here?”

…

Junmyeon knows nothing other than this little town. While Siwon gets to travel for his job, the eldest of his children has a job of his own — to stay home and take care of everyone else. It wouldn’t be fair to say that every day was routine, because everyone always found new ways to get into mischief, but it would be fair to say that every week follows the same pattern. Today, for instance, is laundry day. The day before the weekend starts.

All day, Junmyeon has done nothing but wash and hang clothes. Sometimes he wonders why their household of over two dozen fails to keep the dirt out of their nice white clothes. Other times, he’d rather be in Siwon’s library, transporting himself to a far off land. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to escaping their little provincial town. But his charges need him, so he’s content to stay.

Well, all of his charges, perhaps, save one. Watching Choi Minho return from a hunt is always something of a mixed bag for Junmyeon. LIke his father when he was younger, Minho is tall, broad, and muscular. He’s probably the largest man in town, even as Junmyeon’s carved his own musculature in between his daily fraternal duties. Flex as he might, no one can stretch his poor shirts like Minho.

No one can get animal blood in his clothes like Minho, either. Junmyeon scowls as he watches his younger adoptive brother come back from his hunt, a deer slung over his shoulders. At least he has the decency to wear read today, so his attire blends in with his prey.

Finally close enough to be heard, he laughs — heartily, but also confusing loud. The others are inside, and never pay attention to him anyway. This display of lung strength doesn’t strike Junmyeon in the slightest. Minho hefts the dead deer on the ground, the force knocking its tongue out of its mouth. Junmyeon grimaces as Minho preens. “How has your day been, my sweet?”

“Tedious,” Junmyeon retorts. He flicks some of the soapy water at Minho, who jumps back. “Time and time again, I keep asking you to make your kills cleaner. Do you _have_ to make the poor animal suffer _and_ sully your clothes? Do you know who has to deal with it all when you’re done?”

Minho shrugs. “Taeyeon and Kyungsoo help you cook. And besides, I have to express this flaming charisma _somehow_. If left inside too long, it _burns_ even me.” Feigning pain, he places a hand on his chest.

Junmyeon rolls his eyes. “Right.”

Another thing he hates about Minho is how he’s always _watching_ Junmyeon as he works. The others at least _pretend_ like they have other things to do rather than help. “So.. did you give anything to what I said?”

The others also don’t propose to him at any chance they get.

“Yes,” Junmyeon stresses, turning back to the basin to scrub at Jongin’s brow-flecked shirt. “And my answer hasn’t changed.”

“Why not?” Junmyeon winces at the volume, and jerks when Minho grabs his arm. “Just _think_ about it, Junmyeon. You and me. The perfect household. A strong, mighty husband and his dutiful, filial, obedient spouse. We would be _amazing_ together, the perfect family unit.”

 _You don’t have much room to talk about being filial_ , Junmyeon thinks.

“And we _are_ amazing together. Amazing _siblings_.” He wipes his hands on his apron and sets about drying the clothes. He twists the water onto the floor, taking a private joy in how Minho leaps to avoid the suds. “I have three very specific criteria for my future husband. He has to be able to make me laugh, he has to be pure, and he has to be considerate. I love you — as a brother — but you exhibit none of those traits.”

“I can make you laugh!” Minho protests.

“But not in the right way.” Junmyeon takes the basket and places it in Minho’s hands. “I just can’t see you as anything other than my little brother. And in any case, you’re not my style. Now can you please hang these and wash your own clothes today? I’ve almost rubbed my hands raw.”

“I’m a man, I don’t have to —” His protest is interrupted as Chanyeol comes bounding towards them. Though the chestnut horse leaves a wide berth between them as he skids to a stop, Minho just _has_ to drag Junmyeon ‘protectively’ into his chest. Chanyeol whinnies loudly, panic clear in his eyes.

”Whoa, boy,” Minho says, reaching out to calm the steed by rubbing his neck. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Junmyeon looks over Minho’s shoulder, expecting to see Siwon pulling the cart. When Chanyeol was younger and wilder, he’d sometimes refuse to pull it along. But all that stretches behind Chanyeol is the normal bustling of the town. No Siwon in sight. “Where’s father?”

“Do you think someone might’ve taken him?” Minho asks sharply.

“Why would they let the horse go?” Junmyeon reaches out to rub Chanyeol’s mane. “Something clearly happened. Probably during the storm last night. He might be somewhere in the forest.”

The hunter runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t see him on my regular trail… or any sign of him. Stay here. I’m going to go back to look for him.” He wraps his hands around Chanyeol’s reins, bending down slightly to bounce himself on the saddle.

Junmyeon shakes his head. “You’ve been out all day. You’re tired. _You_ stay and _I’ll_ go look for him. Maybe he’ll come back while I’m gone.”

“You just told me —”

”I know what I said.” His stern tone shuts Minho up. “I’m still going to look for him.”

“Junmyeon, this is a man’s job —”

“And I’m a _man_ , aren’t I?” He plucks reins from Minho’s hands with a rough jerk and turns to pull on his cloak. “I’ll be back soon. If neither of us come home by tomorrow, _then_ come looking for me. The kids need someone at home. You’re the second eldest. And you always told me you wanted to help out, right?”

“Not like this!” Minho throws his hands up. Junmyeon climbs onto Chanyeol’s back, and the hunter frowns. He seemingly accepts defeat under Junmyeon’s glare. “Just… Fine. It should be me. It’s not your place. But go.”

“I’ll be careful,” Junmyeon says. It’s the caveat Minho _meant_ to say, he thinks. A light tap to Chanyeol’s ribs and a gentle steering back to the forest, and he’s off, Minho staring behind him.

Junmyeon had imagined that it would be rather difficult to get Chanyeol to get back to where his father was last seen. In reality, it was Minho’s protestations (and propositions) that prevented Junmyeon from looking before the sun reach the midpoint of its journey. Part of the boy just couldn’t fathom the fact that the hunter was telling him _not_ to search for their father out of some odd insistence towards his masculinity, but he had other things to worry about.

(In any case, Minho often got his priorities mixed up.)

There was some concern, upon his arrival to Banwolseong, that there weren’t many hours of light left. Right in the midst of fall, the number of hours each day was getting smaller and smaller. Perhaps it was the light that allowed Chanyeol to traverse the forest without fear. As orange bled across the sky, he got skittish and his tail began to twitch. Nevertheless, Junmyeon was here on a mission. Something had _happened_ to Siwon.

But where would he start? Everything around him is decrepit, moss growing on walls and roofs missing shingles. The doors to the large building right before him were damaged — one was blown off its hinges, while the other was bent out of place. Though everything seemed weathered by age, it seemed that was the only thing marked by foul play. He ties Chanyeol’s reins to the railing of the bridge, and rubs his neck soothingly. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he murmurs against his chestnut coat. “Wait for me here.”

With cautious steps, he approaches the building. His heart thumps wildly in his chest, and he realizes belatedly that he probably should’ve brought something for protection. He tugs his blue cloak around him; it’s small, old, worn, and the only protection he has against anything out there. He’s too far from civilization for his potential cries for help to be heard. It’s too late to do anything about it now. With any luck, he’ll be out in a second and they’ll be back to town by dawn. Ignoring his trepidation, he carefully steps over the threshold.

“Hello?” he calls. “Is anyone there? Appa?” The main room, a large, expansive interior with low built furniture and circular windows, has massive amounts of unused space on the left and right sides of the room. Both sides also feature an entryway, which he assumes will lead to the labyrinth he noted behind the building. As expected of a palace, the compound was huge. “Hello?” he tries again.

He receives no response. Junmyeon moves toward the entryway to his left, nervously toying with the clasp of his cloak at his throat. A chill creeps up his spine as he feels a pair of eyes following him. He whips his head around in all directions, but can’t pick anyone out. He assumes it’s just nerves and pushes forward.

The left doorway leads to a garden much like the one he saw in the main courtyard. It is, of course, much smaller. The pond here is lined with stones and meticulously groomed. In fact, what he’s seen of the entire right side the castle seems out of place, while everything else is on the verge of collapsing, the Western Wing looks carefully curated, inhabited. “Please,” Junmyeon cries, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his words. “I just want to find my father! Anyone!”

A series of scuttles to his left grabs his attention, and he turns sharply to follow it. The noise doesn’t sound heavy enough to be older than a toddler, but a child crawling on all fours can’t be that fast. A pet, perhaps? Maybe it could lead him to someone. It takes him along the pathway along the walls of the castle. Junmyeon keeps an ear out for the pattering noise, and adjusts his route as necessary when he comes across it again. He never gets to spot its source. His attention is stolen by the nondescript structure at the very rear of the compound, in an area lower than the rest. It looks like it leads underground, more of a burrow than an actual building. Junmyeon has no idea how he’s arrived there, which is alarming, because this means he has no idea how to get out. He had spent more time following the scuttling noise than focusing on where it was taking him. A rookie mistake. Perhaps he _should’ve_ brought Minho with him after all. He’d certainly feel safer if he did.

Junmyeon swallows the lump in his throat and approaches the heavy-looking metal door. There’s something remarkably grim about the location, but that doesn’t deter him. The interior of the building is a bit dim due to the hour, and the sun is sinking at a far faster rate than Junmyeon would like. There are only two rooms, though the second room seems more like an elongated closet where he presumes a sentry would be. Wooden cells line the majority of the larger space and hay litters the floor. Siwon sits slumped against the bars of the middle cell, eyes closed.

“Appa!” Junmyeon cries, flying to his knees before Siwon. The shrillness of his voice seems to awaken the elder, whose lashes flutter as he struggles to open his eyes. Junmyeon reaches between the bars to grasp at Siwon’s shoulder and makes the man jump. His alarm also seems to cause a fit of coughs, leaving Siwon to rub weakly at his chest.

Apparently fully aware of his surroundings now, Siwon heaves out a sob. His hand tries to come through the bars to touch Junmyeon’s face. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he gasps. “It’s _dangerous_ , Junmyeon. The monster… the dragon…”

“What monster? Dragons don’t exist, appa…” In spite of all his reassurances, nothing can calm Siwon down. Junmyeon gets off his knees to test the door, seeing if he could pry it open with his bare hands. Junmyeon was always one of the stronger boy in the orphanage, even taking Minho into account. He was capable of carrying both a tall-for-his-age Jongin and a rapidly growing Sehun on his shoulders, though Minho would insist Junmyeon’s culinary and cleaning prowess trumped his strength. The door to the dungeon hadn’t given him much trouble either. As he was readjusting his grip on a cross-section of wooden bars above and below the door’s lock, a gruff voice cuts him off and makes him jump.

“What are you doing here?”

Junmyeon turns, but can’t see anything in the shadows of the doorway. He hadn’t even heard anyone approach. It’s almost like the dark-timbred voice had floated behind him. “Who’s there?”

The faceless voice scoffs. “The master of this castle.”

“I’ve come to get my father. He forces his voice to stay steady despite his fear. “You’ve taken him prisoner for no reason. He hasn’t done anything wrong!” A gust of heat blasts him in the face, making him stagger backward against Siwon’s cell.

“Nothing _wrong_?”

Siwon coughs again, wet and gruesome. Junmyeon reaches blindly behind him to hold his father. “He’s sick. If he came unbidden, it was because he sought shelter for the night.” Junmyeon’s other hand clenches into a fist. “You kept him prisoner in such a terrible environment, vile beast! You’ve exacerbated his illness!”

“Then he shouldn’t have trespassed here,” says the other. A rumble forms low in his throat, a muted avalanche. Siwon’s coughing progresses into hacking, and then there’s a snapping noise, almost as if meant to silence him. The merchant folds onto his hands and knees. There doesn’t seem to be any indication of the fit stopping and Junmyeon tries as best he can to stroke the man’s back through the cell bars.

“Please,” Junmyeon begs. He lifts his head, attempting to make out a pair of eyes in the dark. The sun has almost dipped beyond the horizon, darkness starting to settle across the room. Dimly, he wonders how Chanyeol is faring, if the beast had come across him and if the steed was spared. “He needs help. I’ll do anything, just let him go.”

“There is nothing you can do.” The voice seems to get farther, as if its owner has turned away.

“No!” Junmyeon gasps, flinging himself forward in a messy kowtow. “Please! I’ll do _anything_. Take me instead. Let him go, and I’ll take his place. _Please_!"

The voice comes back around. It’s startled. “You would do that? Give your life for his?"

“Yes.” There isn’t any doubt — not in his mind, not in his tone.

Siwon wheezes. “Junmyeon, _no_ , you can’t! I’m an old man. I’ve lived my life, just go!”

“You have to promise me you’ll stay forever. Then I’ll let him go.”

Junmyeon swallows, ignoring his adoptive father’s protests. Forever was a long time, and he would never be able to see his little makeshift family, never be with them, never be able to delve into Siwon’s library again. But if it meant Siwon could go back to town, could get help for his cough and repair his health, then it would be worth it. And yet, still, he is hesitant. “Step into the light.” There isn’t much left.

Almost immediately after the words leave his mouth, he regrets them. An uncomfortable heat settles throughout the prison, but a chill creeps up Junmyeon’s spine. The monster doesn’t step so much as slither into the light. First a pair of whiskers becomes visible, a muzzle following, and then the entire head. A serpentine form coils menacingly, partially levitating half a foot or so above the ground. The dragon — _So Siwon was right_ , Junmyeon realizes in horror — is covered in deep green scales, tail swishing. His mouth runs dry. Sweat drips down his neck.

Steam leaves the dragon’s mouth as he speaks. “Second-guessing yourself?”

“No,” Junmyeon blurts. “I just wanted to see. That’s all.”

“So you’ve made your choice? Eternity in Bunjyutseng, in exchange for your father’s life?” The dragon dips his head. There’s a smugness about him; he’s expecting Junmyeon to back down.

“Junmyeon, _no_ ,” Siwon pleads.

“You have my word.”

Nothing happens for a moment; the dragon is still registering his response. Then the door to Siwon’s cell is ripped off its hinges, making Junmyeon start, and the merchant is flung out onto the ground beside his son. Siwon tries to cling onto him, but an unseen force drags him to his feet and forces him up the stairs. A shadow slides over the doorway, and Junmyeon can barely make out the door of a palanquin. It swings open and Siwon is heaved inside, still calling out.

“Take him to the town apothecary.” The dragon doesn’t even look as the palanquin rises and scuttles off in a spider-like manner. His gaze, critical through his golden eyes, remains on Junmyeon. The expression on his face is indecipherable; Junmyeon can’t help but feel tiny in comparison to the monster. “There you have it.”

It’s at that moment that Junmyeon crumbles. Moisture muddles his vision and he curls in on himself. It’s difficult to breathe through his sobs, pressure building in his chest as he hyperventilates. All at once, the gravity of his choice bears down on him. He’s condemned himself to a lifetime of imprisonment at a dragon’s hands. An overwhelming fear seizes his heart. At his core, Junmyeon knows he did the right thing, and he would say yes all over again if he had to. But that doesn’t mean he is not scared. All he has for company for the rest of his life is a wicked serpent. One with a temper, no less, and who could kill him at any time he wants to.

He wrestles to gain control of his respiration, and when he does he notes that he’s framed in shadow. Junmyeon looks up to find the dragon peering down at him. The beast stands on its two hind legs, long torso curved as his head bends downward towards Junmyeon. At his full extension, including his tail, he would be about ten feet long And yet, there’s something about the way that he’s looking at the human makes him seem so much smaller.

Junmyeon rubs at his eyes. He refuses to look weak in front of his new captor. “You didn’t let me say goodbye.” He didn’t mean to sound so accusatory, but he figures the dragon deserves his venom. “I’ll never get to see him again. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

The dragon’s eyes seem to soften at his words. A growl forms in his throat. It’s not threatening, Junmyeon notes, but rather sheepish. As if he’s clearing his throat. “Come with me,” he says finally, whiskers snapping. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Junmyeon gets to his feet weakly. He wobbles, and an invisible grip keeps him upright. His brows furrow as he cranes his head up to look at the dragon. He’s puzzled. “My… room?” he was under the impression that he would be staying in the same cell as his father — or rather, one beside Siwon’s, as the door was more than likely irreparably broken. Regardless of what furniture was meant to prevent his escape, though, the last thing he expected to hear was that he was given a futon, let alone a _room_.

“Do you want to stay in here?” the monster asks, a brow ridge raised.

“No!” Junmyeon exclaims. “Um, no sir.” He folds his hands in his lap.

“Then follow me.” The dragon spins, less than elegant. He almost bowls Junmyeon over with his massive body. He floats up the stairs, and then over the railing so that the walkway is free to Junmyeon only. As the man starts to follow, he notices a candle held in the dragon’s front right paw. He wonders why a being capable of producing fire would need an extraneous light source, but is too afraid to ask. Perhaps it is just easier to hold something already alight than to create one’s own flame.

Junmyeon is grateful for the candle’s illumination. It is well into evening now, and the shadows cast by the Haetae on the corners of the roofs and on small pillars framing the entrances to courtyards frighten him. They seem more lion-like than the statues themselves, and he begins a light jog to keep up with the dragon. Junmyeon keeps his gaze ahead, though he notices in his periphery the dragon shooting him rapid glances, before turning to the object in his grasp. If he strains his ears, he can barely make out the sound of whispering. For his own sake, he chooses to believe it’s his imagination and not the dragon talking to his candle.

They continue in silence in the maze-like complex, and Junmyeon is naturally very startled once the dragon addresses him as they’re going indoors. “I hope… I hope you’ll like it here,” he says. There’s an uncertainty in his voice, like he’s afraid he’ll be rebuffed. “As Bunjyutseng is your home now… You’ll be able to roam the grounds as you wish. Except for the East Wing of the castle, you’re free to explore.”

Junmyeon clears his throat. “I… brought a horse with me.”

“Ah — yes. I’ll make sure he’s groomed and fed before I send him off in the morning.”

Junmyeon nods, not caring that the dragon isn’t looking at him. That seems to be the end of their conversation. The dragon turns into what appears to be a residential wing, if the rooms and their furnishings are any indication. Tentatively, Junmyeon allows his curiosity to get the better of him. “What’s… what’s in the East Wing?”

The response is immediate, brusque, and ferocious. “It is _forbidden_!”

He doesn’t ask any more questions after that. The dragon looks at him oddly. If he regrets his outburst and Junmyeon’s subsequent response, he never voices it.

It isn’t as though Junmyeon had much time to ask questions, anyway. Shortly thereafter, the dragon takes him to the top of the very long stairway, pushing a door open and gesturing for Junmyeon to enter. Like a flipped coin, the dragon’s disposition has changed once more, and he regards Junmyeon almost tenderly. His whiskers twitch. “Make yourself at home. If you have any need for anything, my servants will work to satisfy it to the best of their ability.” He pauses, as if listening for something. “A-and. And you _will_ dine with me tonight. This is not a request.” The dragon leaves, and the screen door slams shut behind him, nearly trapping his tail.

Junmyeon waits until the dragon has enough time to make it all the way down the stairs, out of earshot. Exhausted, Junmyeon throws himself on the ground before his futon and sobs.

…

He isn’t sure how long he’s been crying, but he certainly believes he’s awarded some leeway for sadness. The weight of his decision should be crushing him right now, rendering him immobile. Had he considered all of the factors when trading his life for Siwon’s? Most certainly not. Now he is trapped in this mostly dilapidated castle for the rest of his life, no matter how short it may be.

He’s had a few moments to settle, but he’s done everything _but_ that. Junmyeon still feels stuck in this realm of disbelief and unreality, where part of him is telling himself to just get up and leave, that this is all just a dream. But it’s not, because he’s pinched himself seven times with increasing pressure, and it hurt every time.

So now what? He has a place to sleep, and (he notes with reddened, tear-streaked cheeks) a place to relieve himself and wash up. The beast evidently saw fit to feed him, but he had no guarantee that the food was _edible_ , nor that it wasn’t made out of undesirable, horrid stuff like human flesh. Perhaps more pressing, what was the beast to _do_ to him? Is he simply fattening him up? Will Junmyeon be prepared as the next meal? The mere thought has him bursting again into sobs.

At a knock, he freezes. The beast _can’t_ expect him to go to dinner already; he hasn’t even risen from the floor yet.

A voice different from the beast’s calls, “Do you mind opening up, kid?"

Junmyeon blinks. “Who’s there?” Oh, how brilliant of him, like he knows who anyone in the castle is.

“My name is Lu Han.” Oh. Well that doesn’t sound particularly monstrous. But it does sound like a Westland name. A tapping noise of impatience follows, and Junmyeon hurries to swing the door open.

He sees nothing at eye level, but jumps when something cold enough to seep through the fabric of his pants brushes by his ankle. He looks down, finding a teapot and a teacup hopping their way into his room with little clinks. “Lu… Han?” he asks uncertainly. What a stupid question. Of course Lu Han’s not a —

The teapot, a deep ochre color, stops and turns and says, “That’s right.” It wobbles to the side, as if gesturing to the cup beside it. “This is my younger brother Zitao.”

“Hello!”

Had Junmyeon not gotten his fill of outrageous and terrifying things already, he probably would’ve fainted. But as things were now, a talking tea set seemed relatively normal. What could be more horrifying than a floating green dragon with apparent mood swings? Little else. “H-hello.” He crouches down to look at the set. To his incredulous, exhaustion-driven amusement, they have little faces. “Can I help you?”

“I thought you might be feeling a bit down, so we came to give you some tea.” Lu Han tilts his spout over Zitao, who stays still for the first time since Junmyeon met him. He continues to talk, something about how tea always cheers everyone up. Junmyeon appreciates the sentiment, but he’s far too confounded to keep up.

“Oh. _You’re_ here.” Just as he’s about to take a sip from Zitao (with plenty of trepidation, since he’s basically drinking out of his head), Junmyeon’s head shoots up. The wardrobe sitting against the wall opens, creaking doors reminiscent of stretched arms in the middle of a yawn. “Who’s this?”

Lu Han makes an exasperated groan. “Of _course_ you were sleeping the whole time. Remember the man I told you about last night? This is his son.”

Junmyeon wiggles his fingers. He’s slowly getting used to it, this talking-objects thing. He wonders if the candle the dragon was holding could talk too. “Hi.”

Eyes on the doors flit open as soon as they’re closed. “Oh. Hello.” For a dresser, it looks remarkably sleepy. “He’s awfully old to be his son.”

Lu Han still looks annoyed, but affectionately so. “How would you know? You never saw him.” He turns to Junmyeon. “This is Yixing.” His gaze softens, tone growing somber. “You know, we all thought that was very brave, what you did to save your father. It took guts. It’s plain to see you’ve got plenty of ‘em.”

Junmyeon was doing a good job of being distracted by the miraculous things around him, but the mention of Siwon sets off a wave of melancholy again. Though they all seem supportive, he’s hesitant to confide in them. They are, after all, on the dragon’s side. If he can’t talk to animated objects, however, who _can_ he talk to? Junmyeon sighs. “But I lost everything. My family, my dreams, they’re all gone.” He refuses to cry again, clenching his fists.

Lu Han frowns. “You have _us_ now. We can be your family. Meanwhile, we should be preparing dinner. Yixing, do you think you’ve got anything for him to change into for the meal?” He nods at Zitao, who clinks off to what Junmyeon presumes would be the dining area.

Yixing’s doors fly open again and hanbok start fluttering onto the bed as if thrown. “I might have something. Wait, where’s that blue _jeogori_? Hold on a second —”

“We served dinner without you, Han. You took too long.” Junmyeon whirls around. Oh, a talking clock. He’s not even surprised anymore. It stares at him strangely, scrutinizing his face, and Junmyeon feels particularly self-conscious. There’s something significant in his gaze, but Junmyeon can’t quite point it out. “So, you, boy, should… get going.”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “I’m not going to dinner.”

Yixing gasps. “But you have to! Is he allowed to say no? I don’t think he would allow him to say no.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m _allowed_ to refuse. I’m still doing it.” In a remarkably childish display — this place seems to bring out the worst in him — he sits cross-legged and cross-armed on the futon. He directs his words to the clock, now noticing the dragon’s candle, looking particularly disgruntled, on top of it. “Tell him I’m not going to dinner.”

“I don’t think he’ll like that very much —”

“I don’t _care_ what he likes. If he cares about what _I_ like, he’ll deal with the fact that I don’t want to have dinner with him.”

The clock swallows, looking stricken, and turns to waddle down the hall. Lu Han clicks his tongue. “I’d better go with him. You-Know-Who’s temper is… less than optimal when it comes to being told no these days.” As soon as he’s gone, Junmyeon shuts the door behind him with a resounding clack.

Silence drapes over the space for a bit before Yixing, whom Junmyeon had forgotten was even there, speaks. “You know, you should’ve gone to dinner. I know the master has a rough disposition, but he’s really not all that bad once you get to know him. He’s nice and understanding, even if he doesn’t seem that way. The years have been hard on him.”

Junmyeon scowls. “A nice and understanding dragon held my clearly-ill father captive, then demanded a lifelong prisoner once I tried to release him? Please.” He hears Yixing thumping towards him, but still starts as a door presses against his shoulder in what seems to be an attempt at comfort. He feels bad for snapping at the furniture.

“I know what he’s shown you isn’t exactly… the friendliest of creatures, but underneath those scales is someone who’s hurting,” Yixing murmurs. “He has plenty of reason to be so snappy and paranoid, and we all try to give him some slack even though he’s the reason we’re all like this. He might even explain it to you someday. All you have to do is give him a chance.”

There’s some merit to his words. Junmyeon doesn’t think he ought to just forgive so easily and so blindly, but they _are_ to be living together. The least he could do is try to make peace.

Just as Junmyeon is about to concede, someone bangs on the door and startles him into standing. “I believe I made it clear that I wanted you at dinner!” It’s his worst nightmare.

Yixing utters a small, “Uh oh,” and Junmyeon shouts back, “I’m not hungry!”

“Don’t make me… don’t make me break down the door!”

Well now there’s _no_ way he’s saying yes. He was about to take Yixing’s advice and dine with the beast, but this display of aggression only serves to incense him. He’s in the midst of formulating a retort when the until the beast speaks again.

Softly, hesitantly, he says, “Can you… can you have dinner with me… please? I’d appreciate it.”

And Junmyeon appreciates his current tone. But he’s already made up his mind. He grits his teeth. “No, thank you.”

The dragon is yelling again. So much for sincerity. “You can’t stay in there forever!”

“Oh, _watch_ me!”

“Fine! Then have fun _starving_!” Distant, like he’s speaking to someone else — probably his servants — he growls, “If he doesn’t eat with me, he doesn’t get to eat at all.”

Given that he doesn’t touch the ground, the monster doesn’t quite stomp away. But the atmospheric effect remains. Junmyeon is still sitting on his futon, shell-shocked.

Turning to look at Yixing, who is suitably sheepish for a wardrobe with half a face, Junmyeon scoffs. “I should just give him a chance, huh?”

…

Junmyeon came down for dinner a little later, because he’s still human and hadn’t sated his hunger in what feels like years. He made sure that it was late enough that even the likes of the dragon had gone to bed — fearsome belligerent apparently-not-quite-mythical creatures still needed rest. To his fortune, he had correctly timed his venture. It was also to his immense fortune that the castle’s servants seemed to apparently anticipated his change in heart. They had prepared several dishes for him, even performing a lively number that he’s mostly certain his over-stressed brain conjured up of its own accord.

Still, he finds himself humming the melody under his breath as the candlestick and clock (both of whom introduced themselves with varying amounts of zeal) through the palace’s twisting corridors. There were several levels, and the structure is as sprawling as it is towering. Junmyeon that he’ll learn fast with starvation as a looming possibility.

Jongdae the candlestick is an altogether different force of nature. Junmyeon finds that he was correct in surmising that the dragon and Jongdae were conspiring as the former led Junmyeon to his room. He has no idea if the candle’s advice was sound, but given the dragon’s words and actions, that didn’t seem to be the case. Jongdae is snarky, a little bitter. Maybe the dragon couldn’t pick upon his sarcasm and thought Jongdae meant it when he told him to be angry and rough.

The whole routine, which Junmyeon is still sure was a fever dream, was orchestrated (or at least conducted) by Jongdae. He seems to be trying his best to make Junmyeon feel at home, though it’s unclear if it’s out of the goodness of his heart or on behalf of his master. Junmyeon hopes that it’s the former.

He babbles away at fun facts about the castle while they walk, how a king had decided the lush forests and generally verdant landscape inspired him to make a home there, and that he’d liked the noble who sold him the land so much he made him a son-in-law. Little details Junmyeon couldn’t care less about, but it was polite to pretend that he was interested, so he’d plastered an engrossed half-smile on his face and slowly tuned out.

It’s fair to say, given what little attention he’s paid to the impromptu tour, is that they’re going around in circles. On purpose, to avoid going to a specific area — which he guesses is the area the dragon called “ _forbidden_.” Just to be contrary, Junmyeon takes the words as a challenge. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing at a hallway they’ve passed a total of six times.

“O-oh,” Jongdae says, flustered, “nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over. It’s just the East Wing and the Sun Room, but you don’t —”

“Jongdae!” Minseok the clock hisses, the first time he’s spoken in a while.

He too is a different breed of magical object. While Jongdae is garrulous and loquacious, Minseok speaks only when he needs to. His reservation is more Junmyeon’s style, if he’s being honest. His being prone to staring wordlessly at Junmyeon for random intervals, however, is not. Clearly, there’s something that the human is missing out on. Minseok never seems willing to voice any consternation he has about him. Instead, he seems content to just send shivers up Junmyeon’s spine with his painfully obvious observation.

It makes it harder for Junmyeon to grasp who he is. Harder than Jongdae, at any rate, who seems completely open in comparison. Minseok doesn’t look too fond of revealing anything, conversely. The most Junmyeon can tell is that he’s a stickler for order, if only for the sake of avoiding a headache. For the most part, the clock is content to stay out of disputes. It’s only Jongdae who seems to get a genuine rise out of him.

The beginnings of a scolding form on Minseok’s face — Junmyeon recognizes himself having worn such an expression when the kids back home got too rowdy while Siwon was trying to rest. He tries to ignore the sinking in his chest. _Home_. Instead, he notes that Minseok’s annoyance has elicited a quarrelsome response from Jongdae. Junmyeon can almost hear the whine before it bursts from the appliance. Before long, the pair’s verbal exchange escalates into full-blown squabbling, and Junmyeon takes it as his cue to slip into the painfully tantalizing East Wing.

So he does, Jongdae’s indignant, defensive shouts echoing behind him.

The hallway is much like his own, filled with empty rooms with doors left ajar, and eventually tapering into a staircase after a few paces. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, keeping him awake even if he’s only running on a few hours of rest. Surely nothing could be so dreadful in that Sun Room. Was the dragon keeping human chattel up there, taking his actual meals of flesh and man after Junmyeon had supposedly retired? He didn’t seem the sort, no matter how angry he was. Before he knows it, Junmyeon’s reached the top of the narrow staircase and comes face to face with… a bedroom.

It’s certainly large, featuring a stiff-looking, four-post bed. It bears a torn canopy that might’ve been red once upon a time. The room, much like the rest of the castle, is decrepit, even destroyed. Scrolls are strewn about, clothes haphazardly tossed to the floor. There are holes in the wall. What he presumes were once bedsheets and part of the canopy are bundled in the center of the room in a sort of nest. The only thing that seems to be in good repair sat near the open window, unbothered by the slight draft being let in.

An overturned, translucent jade vase sits over a rose, seemingly standing upright all by itself. It’s the only speck of vibrant color in the room, erring more on red than magenta, calling to him like a beacon. Junmyeon walks toward it as if he’s in a trance, carefully stepping over the large puddle of fabric. He squats in front of the little table it’s seated on. Petals litter the surface underneath the vase, and it occurs to Junmyeon that the rose is much smaller than others of its kind not because it has yet to bloom, but because it is losing its petals. One falls just as his fingers drift absently towards the jade.

“ ** _You_**!”

Junmyeon shrieks, flailing as he scrambles to turn around. He dimly registers his elbow slamming painfully into the vase, the vessel unmovable. His heart leaps into his throat as the dragon snarls at him. The strange mixture of heat and cold he’d felt in the prison settles around him again, making his palms sweaty. “I—”

“Do you know what you could’ve done? To me? To _all_ of us?” the dragon roars. He lunges at Junmyeon as he speaks, but veers away at the last second to coil protectively over the rose. The beast examines the flower frantically, then flings his head in Junmyeon’s direction. “Just go!” he clamors, teeth bared and eyes glowing in fury, and rain falls from the sky in giant rivulets.

The precipitation doesn’t deter him in the slightest — he’d rather brave the weather than stay here and risk his life in the dragon’s presence. He takes off in a sprint, the dragon bellowing skyward behind him. Miraculously, Junmyeon makes it down the stairs without tripping and races to the main hall. He nearly bowls over Minseok and Jongdae (no longer bickering but evidently concerned about his whereabouts) before being stopped in his tracks by Lu Han clanking in front of him.

The tears finally fall as Junmyeon catches his breath. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Lu Han, but I can’t stay here. Before the teapot has a chance to respond, Junmyeon scrambles to where he left Chanyeol, a bay of hay. before him The horse was in the midst of a meal, but Junmyeon’s panic seems to have startled him. He shuffles on his hooves as Junmyeon fumbles with his reins and barely stays still long enough for the youth to scramble onto his back.

Chanyeol speeds off in a gallop. The darkness of night already impaired his sight, Chanyeol’s pace made it impossible for Junmyeon to make anything out. His heart still pounds violently in his chest, his airway constricted, and his cheeks still stained with tears. he’s so filled with the brim with adrenaline that at first he thinks the howls belong to the dragon, coming to kill him, but then he turns his head and sees at least five lupine forms weaving between the trees. “Oh no,” he breathes, and Chanyeol whinnies in response.

Almost as if on cue, two wolves leap from the brush to block their path. Chanyeol screeches and lifts onto his hind legs. The action flings Junmyeon off of his back, and the fall knocks the air out of his lungs. He scrambles to his feet and grabs a nearby fallen branch, brandishing it in front of him like a sword. Chanyeol’s stomping halts the wolves in front of them from moving, immobilized by the fear of being crushed under his hooves. They don’t seem too bothered by the equestrian obstacle, in spite of their stillness. They’re merely biding their time.

A form hits the ground behind him, making a squelch. Whirling, Junmyeon swings blindly. He makes contact with _something_ — and a brief sensation of satisfaction bursts in his chest at a wolf’s pained yelp — but the return swipe yields no such results. Instead, a toothy maw snags the branch and yanks it away from him. The makeshift weapon now taken out of the picture, the wolf leaps at him, mouth full of jagged, sharp teeth opened wide.

Junmyeon screams, flinging himself backwards and throwing his arms over his face — and nothing happens. He’s trembling from both the fear and the cold, soaked to the bone and scared out of his wits. But not a single hair on his head has been touched. Instead, the wolf cries out. He lowers his hands and finds the wolf locked in the jaws of another — the dragon.

He crunches down and flings the wolf away into a tree, turning quickly to bat the other members of its pack. He gets dogpiled quickly, four wolves clambering onto him. His flexibility allows him to snap at them and shake them off — but he doesn’t do so effortlessly. The dragon roars. Lightning strikes the ground right behind him, the wolf’s fur singed by its heat.

Chanyeol shrieks in fear, but Junmyeon latches onto his reins and keeps him from taking off. The wolves run as thunder rumbles, and the dragon collapses. It’s the first time Junmyeon has seen him touch floor. He takes Chanyeol with him, leather strips clutched tightly in his hand, to examine the dragon.

He’s extraordinarily passive on the brink of unconsciousness. “A-are you all right?” Junmyeon asks. His voice wavers, just as his hand does as it reaches towards the dragon’s head. The dragon’s eyes roll almost lazily to him.

“F-fine,” he huffs.

Junmyeon’s eyes trail down his long body, zeroing in on the bite wound that the wolf left behind. The wound is messy, puncturing spots between his scales and even tearing one off. His pink, splotchy flesh is exposed, quickly painted red by the blood pouring from the bite. “You’re… you’re really _not_.” He lifts his gaze to Chanyeol, whose nostrils flare as he stamps his feet nervously. “Do you think you can help me carry him back, Chanyeol?”

The horse sniffs, and the dragon’s eyes flutter shut.

“No, no, no,” says Junmyeon. Smacking the dragon’s face lightly, he lifts his head so that he’s looking at Junmyeon directly. “Don’t fall asleep — you’ll crush Chanyeol. Stay awake. Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” the dragon asks, his words resembling more of a sigh than anything else. When his breathing seems to even out, Junmyeon yanks his head up again. “Ow!”

Junmyeon tries to be considerably gentler as he grabs the dragon’s midsection and carefully hoists him up towards Chanyeol. “You’re going to have to help us — I… I realized I don’t know your name…”

The dragon hisses quietly as he tries to float, laying himself partially on the horse’s back. Chanyeol makes a brief sound of discomfort and slightly stumbles. Junmyeon takes hold of the dragon’s lower half and loops it over his shoulders like a water seller. The dragon cranes his head to look at him. A puff of smoke leaves his nostrils as Chanyeol starts to move. “Jikfaan,” he says. A short, muted burst of noise, Junmyeon needed to repeat the last few seconds in his mind to decipher what had been said.

“Your name is Jikfaan?” he asks.

The dragon nods weakly.

He readjusts his grip on the green scales, already feeling an ache forming in his lower back. “Well, Prince Jikfaan, tell me a story. We’ve a ways to go before we reach your palace.”

…

As it turns out, allowing him free reign to speak meant opening himself up to diatribe after diatribe. Jikfaan rejected the notion of reciting some fairy tale, instead using his labored breaths to chew Junmyeon out for foolishly running into the storm unarmed. he can’t say he was surprised by the direction Jikfaan’s words took.

“This is all your fault and — _YOOWWWWW_!” Thunder rumbles from outside, but Junmyeon remains unfazed as he uses an alcohol soaked rag to clean Jikfaan’s wounds as best as he can. “If you hadn’t — that _hurts_!”

“If you didn’t move it wouldn’t hurt as much!” Junmyeon snaps. He has no idea of dragons heal as humans do, or if the missing scale will grow back. What he _does_ know is that any open wound needs to be properly cleaned. Given Jikfaan’s generally unsanitary living conditions, this was a necessity. “And, maybe, if you hadn’t scared me, I wouldn’t have run away.”

Jikfaan quiets then, scowling at his sheets while sitting up on his fabric nest. It had been a miracle that Junmyeon managed to convince the mouthy dragon to float his way into his room, and he’d nearly had a heart attack as Jikfaan flung himself to the floor. It had been another miracle that the violence of the movement hadn’t exacerbated the wound. At least, though, he’s become remarkably less threatening. Perhaps this is the Jikfaan that Yixing spoke of.

Junmyeon purses his lips as he removes his hands and sits back on his haunches. He doesn’t think he can bandage the wound, and it isn’t as it’s bleeding anymore, either. “I…” He clears his throat. “I never thanked you. For saving my life. So, thank you.”

Jikfaan looks at him, whiskers twitching and expression unreadable. “You’re welcome,” he says. He sounds sincere. “You’re welcome, Junmyeon.”

The words have made things odd. He’s made peace with a beast that — for all Junmyeon knows — tried to kill him a little over an hour ago. There was never a clear indication if he meant to cause serious harm to Junmyeon, seeing as he _did_ save him from the wolves, but then again, it wasn’t as if Junmyeon knew Jikfaan well enough to judge him anyways. He feels shame bubbling somewhere in his gut.

Junmyeon clears his throat again, and Jikfaan’s mouth quirks. “Well, you’d better get some rest. It’s late. I will be going to bed. You should too.”

“Um. All right.”

With nothing left to say, it seems like the appropriate time to flee.

Junmyeon pointedly does _not_ run out of Jikfaan’s room and all the way back to his own — he walks confidently and calmly. Sweat trickles down his back as he _very_ coolly stalks the halls back to his own quarters. He reminds himself that he is _not_ shaken by the encounter, let alone flustered by Jikfaan in general. The dragon — almost unbelievably kinder than a few hours ago — holds no such power over him. The storm has abated, sky cloudless and the castle illuminated by the moon. He must’ve slammed his door a bit too forcefully, though, because Yixing makes a little startled noise. Opening his doors, he reveals Lu Han and Jongdae inside of him.

“Is he done screaming?” the wardrobe asks as his inhabitants make their way to the mattress Junmyeon is sitting on.

“He should be sleeping,” Junmyeon answers. He jumps a little as Minseok toddles over to him, having gone previously unnoticed. “Or at least he should be _trying_ to.”

Lu Han, now seated rather precariously by his left hands, snorts. “Yifan was always a crybaby.”

Junmyeon’s brows furrow. “I thought his name was Jikfaan.”

Han shrugs, or at least tries to shrug as best as a teapot can. “Regional dialects. I was born in the Northern Westland but came to serve in his father’s court in the South.”

“His father’s court,” Junmyeon repeats. “So… Jikfaan isn’t the prince of Banwolseong? If he’s from the Southern Westland, what is he doing _here_?”

Lu Han shifts uneasily. MInseok answers for him. “Well, it’s rather late, but I suppose we ought to tell you the truth, since it appears that you _will_ , in fact, be staying with us for an indefinite amount of time.”

There are considerably less ominous ways that Minseok could’ve phrased his words, but Junmyeon doesn’t comment on his diction. “I would greatly appreciate it, thank you.”

They all do nothing but stare at each other for a few moments. None of the servants seem to know what to say, and Junmyeon doesn’t know where to tell them to begin. Eventually, he prompts them. “Well?”

Yixing clears his throat. “I’ll state the obvious — we all used to be people.”

“Right,” Lu Han piggybacks. “If you had come to us ten years ago, you would’ve seen us as men. But we were cursed. Or, rather, _Yifan_ was. We were all collateral.”

Jongdae and Minseok send each other a look.

“A curse?” Junmyeon asks. “Like… by a wizard?”

“A witch,” Lu Han corrects. “It all started when yifan came here. He’s the second son of the Emperor of the Southern Westland. Though not expected to lead, since his elder brother is healthy and strong, his father still wanted him to have experience in rulership and appointed him regent of Banwolseong while the Eastern royal family was… indisposed.”

“Indisposed?”

Minseok speaks up. “A… tragedy had struck the royal family. It is a… complicated issue. But as they grieved, they allowed their eldest son’s closest friend to take control of the palace. It was never meant to be… permanent.” He looks downward, and Junmyeon feels bad for asking. Minseok must’ve been one of the Eastern family’s servants — the ethnicity of his name would indicate so. “They intended to take a month to mourn. They didn’t last a single week.”

“Several days after Yifan took power,” Lu Han continues, “an enchantress came to the castle seeking shelter in exchange for a rose. There was a violent and terrible storm and yifan was busy trying to work out the logistics of reparation to the nearby town, as well as juggling diplomatic relations with the Imperial State of the Sun. They occupied the guest rooms and left nowhere for the enchantress to stay. Stressed and afraid of failure, Yifan told her that she could stay in the stable for the night.”

He smiles ruefully. “If you ask me, it was a decent solution. He intended to have the basic amenities of a room placed in a stable, and it was better than nothing if she truly needed help. But she didn’t. It was a test.”

“So she cursed him?” Junmyeon says. He remembers the storm in question. He spent it rather cold, as he was busy stitching up his cloak in a flickering candle’s light. “But… how old was he, if this was ten years ago?”

“Fifteen.”

He gapes. “ _Fifteen_?”

Lu Han tilts, imitating a nod. “She was disguised as an old crone, but revealed herself to be a beautiful woman, in truth. She accused him of being cruel to her because she was ugly, and said that he had no love in his heart. Yifan begged for forgiveness, but it was too late. She turned him into a dragon, and placed a curse on the rest of us. She said that if Yifan could be loved in his hideous form, the spell would be broken and we would be restored.”

“And the rose.” Junmyeon’s eyes snap to Jongdae, who stares at him steadily. “The one you found? It’s the same rose she offered as a bartering tool for shelter. She placed a spell on that too. It’s an hourglass of sorts. If Jikfaan can break the curse before the last petal falls, then we’re freed, as Lu Han said. If he can’t, then he’s doomed to be a dragon forever. And we… we become what we are.”

“No,” Junmyeon whispers. “You mean…”

“I’ll be a candle, Yixing will be a wardrobe, and little Tao will be a cup. Forever. No more of this sentience business.” Jongdae’s tone is bitter and acrimonious. Junmyeon frowns.

“But that’s the gist of it,” Minseok interjects. He watches Junmyeon’s expression with deep scrutiny. “Anyways, I think that’s enough for tonight. You haven’t even spent a full day here, and we’re saddling you with all of this… baggage. You must be tired. We’ll leave you for the night.” He doesn’t wait for anyone else, leaving the room by himself with heavy steps.

Jongdae spares Junmyeon one last look before following the clock. Lu Han bids him good night, and it seems that Yixing had already fallen asleep while they were talking.

Junmyeon is, for all intents and purposes, alone again. It’s a much different loneliness than the loneliness he felt a few hours ago. It’s a _turmoil_ , rather than a depression. He feels listless, but it’s because he knows more than he once did. He feels a little wiser, and yet he’s not entirely sure that’s a good thing.

For one, he knows Jikfaan’s name, meaning he’s no longer just ‘the dragon’ or ‘the beast.’ Referring to him as Jikfaan humanizes him. He’s not just a dark figure looming in the shadows with a remarkably short temper. He’s… something else. Junmyeon would hesitate to say that he _knows_ Jikfaan, because he hasn’t even spent a full twenty-four hours in his presence yet. The very least of Junmyeon’s knowledge involving Jikfaan could explain why he is the way he is. Once a child given too much responsibility, simply at the wrong place at the wrong time, he was given a hideous form and falsely accused of cruelty and prejudice. Junmyeon wonders if the witch’s words hit close to home, if Jikfaan adopted those traits simply because that was all he was consigned to for ten years.

He is undoubtedly course, unrefined, and abrasive. And yet, it doesn’t seem to be his true nature. The violence with which he defended Junmyeon was expected of a brutish dragon, and yet… the way he looked at Junmyeon was the complete opposite. Sheepish, shy, a little afraid.

No, Junmyeon doesn’t know who Jikfaan is at all. For the first time since he’s set foot in Banwolseong, though, he’s willing to learn. 

He falls asleep staring at the wall to his left, where a portrait of a regally-dressed family of four hangs — a father, a mother, a little boy, and a tiny baby swaddled in a blue blanket.

…

He catches Jikfaan at the breakfast table the next morning. The dragon sits at the head, a long, worn blanket draped over his body. There are bandages stretched across his chest; Junmyeon supposes the servants patched him up while he slept. The air between them is still awkward and uncertain. Last night turned their relationship on it's head, and neither knows how to proceed. Tentatively, Junmyeon shuffles to the seat to Jikfaan’s left, where another set of dishes has been laid out.

“Good morning, Junmyeon,” Jikfaan says as he sits down. The sudden speech startles him, and Jikfaan looks uncomfortable.

“G-good morning, Jikfaan,” he returns. He pours himself a cup of tea and nurses a few sips before speaking. “I trust you slept well? Your wounds didn’t give you any discomfort?”

Jikfaan shakes his head. “Only when I woke up this morning. Yixing managed to wrangle the bandage on and Lu Han knows how to make this pain-relieving salve from the North so…” He trails off.

“I see.” Junmyeon picks up a piece of fish with his chopsticks. He doesn’t speak again until he’s finished the entire piece. “Well, I’m glad you’re doing all right.”

Jikfaan perks up at his words. “Thank you.” The dragon returns to his food. Junmyeon is appalled, as he eats like a savage. He was once human, lived a human’s childhood where he surely learned table manners, as well as how to use human utensils, and yet he slurps his soup loudly and with abandon. Jikfaan’s tongue, long and thin, swipes bits of everything into one mouthful. The action gives Junmyeon an _amazing_ view of Jikfaan’s jagged, protracted teeth. A view he’d very much like to forget.

Eventually, Jikfaan seems to take notice of his disgust, because he stops eating entirely (after five refills of his plates) and takes on an expression Junmyeon recognizes is self-conscious. The sheer pity of it makes him feel bad, and he sends a gentle smile as an apology.

The dragon’s physiology, he realizes, is the reason he eats the way he does. His arms are too far from his head, too short to reach, and curling over himself to accommodate them would require bending his spine at an impossible angle. After so many years in that form and being the sole diner, it’s easy to see why Jikfaan’s eating habits are so aggressive and ill-mannered.

In a sort of compromise, Junmyeon lifts his soup bowl to his lips. At the dip of his head, Jikfaan goes to lap at his own, almost like a dog. They finish their meal like this, with Junmyeon making bare use of his utensils, and Jikfaan curbing his forcefulness.

When their dishes are being cleared, a little musical routine of it's own, Jikfaan speaks again. His words are halting, hesitant. “Have you… given any thought into what you are going to do for the rest of the day?”

Junmyeon frowns, realizing he hasn’t. He doesn’t know what there _is_ to do. He didn’t bring anything with him, save his cloak. He’s glad he did; of all the things he owns, it is and will always be his favorite. But it isn’t exactly the best of ways to occupy his time. There was really only one use for it. Noticing finally that Jikfaan has been staring at him and waiting for an answer, he flushes. “Well, I was thinking I might go for a walk around the palace grounds — that is, if it’s allowed. If it isn’t, I’m sure I can find something else to busy myself with.”

The dragon shakes his head furiously. “No, it’s absolutely allowed. I, uh, was thinking of taking a walk myself, actually. Would you mind if I… joined you today?” He winces minutely, a movement so tiny that Junmyeon barely even notices it.

Those aren’t the words he expects to leave Jikfaan’s mouth, although he isn’t quite sure what he was expecting in the first place. To think, if Jikfaan would’ve made that request a day ago, he would’ve flat out refused. Now, he’s… a little unsure. The dragon’s presence still frightens him (no matter how brave he was while cleaning Jikfaan’s wounds), but the fear is never going to leave if Junmyeon keeps avoiding him. So he nods. “Yes, you may. Just… let me get my cloak. It looks a little chilly today.”

Jikfaan grins, yet another garish display of his fangs as well as a fair bit of gums, but Junmyeon finds himself rather endeared. “Of course. Take as much time as you need. I’ll be waiting for you in the foyer.”

And that’s how he finds himself anxiously pacing the palace grounds with Jikfaan. The dragon had asked to walk with him, but it seems he’s content to float beside Junmyeon, extended to his full length. They’re _so_ , so awkward around each other that it hurts. Junmyeon is no master of interaction, certainly not as _charismatic_ as Minho, but he likes to think he’s not absolutely hopeless, either. Just… what is there to say?

Before Junmyeon can come up with a mundane starter, Jikfaan speaks. “Han told me that… that you know about what happened to us. I’m sure you have questions.”

“Well, yes, but…” He figured it would’ve been rude to ask.

“Go ahead. If we’re to… live together, there should be no secrets.” Jikfaan considers this. “Well, maybe _some_ things should be left to the imagination.”

Junmyeon laughs. “Yes, that seems best.”

“But, in any case, ask away. I’ll try to answer everything to the best of my ability.”

Junmyeon thinks, finding himself suddenly bombarded with queries. He’s not sure where to start. “Tell me about yourself.” The demand seems to take Jikfaan abakc. “I know… most of what’s needed to break the curse. Lu Han might be a bit of an unreliable narrator, but I’m taking his word for what happened that night. I know about all _that_ , but I don’t… I don’t know anything about _you_.” 

“I… I’m not that interesting.”

“Oh, please. You’re a prince who was turned into a dragon. And if nothing else, being a prince alone is pretty interesting.” He bumps Jikfaan with his shoulder, accidentally disrupting the other’s flight. “Oops! Sorry.” 

Jikfaan snorts as he rights himself. “You’re fine. And, really, I may have been a prince, but my life prior to the curse really wasn’t that interesting.”

“I’m sure you got into all _sorts_ of trouble. You look like the type.”

The dragon cocks a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know.” Junmyeon covers his mouth as he laughs.

“Well, now that you mention it… I suppose my brother and I _did_ get into our fair share of mischief when we were little.”

“You’re the second son, aren’t you?” Junmyeon asks. He hopes his memory isn’t playing tricks on him.

Jikfaan nods. “I have two older siblings and one younger. My older brother Jifung has always been closer to me than my sisters Sai and Jatwan were, though.”

“Well, I’m sure you two were quite the pair.”

“I’m not sure the servants would’ve put it so mildly. _Pernicious brats_ sounds more like what they’d say.” Jikfaan smiles, looking a little rueful. “We used to wreak _havoc_. Knocking things — people, even — over, sneaking into the kitchens to eat all the food before a big banquet, things of that nature.”

“Oh, you sound like a _disaster_!”

Jikfaan guffaws, throwing his head back. The violence of the moment flings the rest of his body too, making him do almost a backflip in the air. Junmyeon fails to stifle a giggle at Jikfaan’s moderately mortified expression once he’s realized what he’s done. Ducking his head, the dragon continues, “I’m sure we weren’t _that_ bad. Father always gave us a stern talking-to but we were never severely reprimanded.

“You sound like my youngest brothers. Sehun and Jongin _pretend_ to be the picture of innocence, but anyone who knows them knows that they’re anything but.” He shudders as the memories start flooding back. The baker still hasn’t forgiven any of them for what the two littlest did. “But they’re just kids. I’m sure they’ll grow out of it soon enough.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Jikfaan teases, tossing him an impish grin. “How many siblings do you have?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Oh.” The dragon splutters. “Wait, _what_?”

“There’s Minho, Taeyeon, Sooyeon, Soojung, Sooyoung, Sooyoung, Minyoung, Jonghyun, Kibum, Jinki, Joohyun, Joohyun, Yeri, Seungwan, Seulgi, Soonkyu, Yoona, Yuri, Sehun, Jongin, Taemin, Baekhyun, Kyungsoo, and Hyoyeon. I think.” He counts on his fingers. “Yes. That’s all of them.”

“… You said two of those names twice.” Jikfaan’s increasingly horrified expression as Junmyeon rattles off names is the funniest thing he’s seen in a long time.

“I know. There are two of them each.”

“Oh. Silly me. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Junmyeon snorts unattractively. He taps Jikfaan lightly on the muzzle. “Siwon can’t be faulted for that, since Minho and I are the only ones he was responsible for naming. Everyone else didn’t have the _luxury_.” Jikfaan dips his head, and Junmyeon stops in his tracks, turning to look at him. “You didn’t think we were all related, did you?”

“I’ve, uh, heard stories about commoners, so I…” If a dragon could blush, Jikfaan’s face would be crimson. “I’m sorry for presuming.”

“Jinyoung-ahjussi, the woodcutter, has nine daughters of his own, but I think twenty-four is a _bit_ of an impossibility,” Junmyeon chuckles. “Apology accepted, though.”

“Twenty-four,” Jikfaan repeats. He lets out a low whistle. “How exactly did he manage to come by… so… many?”

“My father’s always been something of a soft soul. He grew up in a large family himself, on the younger end of thirteen brothers,” he explains. His heart warms at the thought of his family and father, though he knows he will never see them again. Just a bit of resentment flares, but he quickly stamps it out. “He came into money as a trader, and decided he couldn’t see another child go parentless and childless on the streets. It was quite the ambition, but he realizes the sheer number of us is a bit too much on his finances.”

Jikfaan is silent, and then says falteringly, “I’m sorry I ever called him a thief.”

Junmyeon blinks. He hadn’t expected another apology. Jikfaan was, apparently, full of surprises. Junmyeon grins at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

They walk again, both quiet. It’s still awkward, but less so than before. Whatever it is between them is more like a truce than a ceasefire. He’s glad.

“I still don’t understand, though,” Jikfaan pipes up after a while. “How does he _handle_ twenty-four children?”

Junmyeon laughs. “He doesn’t. _I_ do. And luckily for me, some of them are close enough to adulthood that they can be trusted to take care of themselves, now. Heavens knows how they are without me, though.”

“Did you ever have any time to yourself, though?” Jikfaan presses. “it’s hard to imagine. I just had to tell ten people what to do on my behalf and that was already nearly impossible. At least, that’s what it seemed like to me.”

“We have a lot of hand-me-downs,” Junmyeon admits. “This cloak is the only thing I’ve ever had to really call my own. Everyone of us has our own little _thing_. I suppose this is mine.” Fingering the faded blue fabric, he feels Jikfaan’s heavy stare pinning him down.

“Can you… tell me about it?” There’s something strange in his tone of voice, but Junmyeon can’t quite put his finger on it. He hopes it’s not a cause for concern.

“There’s not really a lot to tell.” Junmyeon shrugs. “This is the blanket Siwon found me wrapped in as a baby. As you can see, I sort of outgrew it. He always told me I cried the loudest whenever he tried to take it from me, even to wash. It’s just… been with me ever since.

Jikfaan raises his brows. “Siwon is not your father?”

“Not by blood, but that doesn’t make him any less of my father.” He doesn’t intend to come off so harsh, and regrets the aggression as soon as it leaves his mouth.

“Of course,” Jikfaan says simply. “I did not mean to imply otherwise.”

It sounds like Jikfaan forgives him, but the air between them seems to have regressed. Jikfaan keeps his silence, at least until his inquisitiveness seems to get the better of him.

“Can I ask how it was torn? Your cloak?” His eyes flick to the corner of the hem, where there’s a rather questionable patch of gray fabric where bleached azure should be.

Subconsciously, Junmyeon reaches back to grab at it. He frowns. “It was… a strange occurrence, actually, now that I think about it. I was accompanying my brother Minho on one of his hunts before we were to wait out the storm. And I wanted to make sure he didn’t ruin the hog meat — it might’ve been deer, I’m not sure — when out of the blue, a woman… attacked me.”

“What?” Jikfaan looks alarmed, then concerned.

“She rambled about needing money, and then she ripped off the corner of my cloak.” He runs his fingers over the fabric. “Minho tried to get her, but she slipped away after biting his hand. I haven’t seen her since. But that was years ago. Neither of us had come of age yet, if my memory still serves me.”

“I… see.” There’s more still of that odd tone, like Jikfaan’s trying to piece something together. Junmyeon wants to ask, but then Jikfaan’s changing the subject and he never gets the chance.

At some point, he just forgets about the query entirely, and simply focuses on talking to the other. Jikfaan is a lot funnier than Junmyeon thought of him previously.

It’s a good walk.

…

Not long after, the first snow falls, and Junmyeon insists Jikfaan come out with him to enjoy it. Being with him quickly felt like second nature. Neither of them have anything to do during the day (and Junmyeon wonders how Jikfaan spent _ten years_ in mind-numbing boredom before he arrived), so the most natural thing to do i just accompany one another.

While their previous initial walk revealed a then yet-unseen sense of humor, spending day after day with Jikfaan made Junmyeon realize the dragon was hopelessly naïve and innocent. Part of it has to do, he assumes, with being cooped up in a castle since the age of fifteen, but he also sees that it’s just who Jikfaan is. It’s in his nature to see the best in everything, to assume everyone’s default state is good and trustworthy. Or, at least, it seemed that he used to be like that. Knowing he’s sorry for ever being so cruel and accusatory to a blameless Siwon makes it a little better, but sometimes Junmyeon thinks back to the vitriol and unhidden rage that seethed within Jikfaan when they first met. It’s hard to reconcile that with the dragon he knows now.

Nevertheless, his invitation to mess around in the snow reminds him of the almost-childlike innocence Jikfaan bears.

“Yes! Yes! Of course, yes!” he chirps, darting past Junmyeon down the stairs, through the hallways, and out the doors into the courtyard.

Walking instead of running, it takes Junmyeon a bit of time to catch up. By the time he does, Jikfaan is rolling around in the snow, tongue hanging out like a dog. Once he catches sight of him, the dragon springs up and drags him along with a whiskers wrapped around his wrist.

“Snow!” Jikfaan says, the epitome of giddiness.

He’s so completely different from his previous self, Junmyeon can’t help but laugh. As a dragon, Jikfaan should be intimidating, stern, perhaps even aggressive. The only aggression he displays, though, is directed towards having fun. He’s such a goof that Junmyeon wonders how he ever thought to appear fearsome at all.

“It snows every year,” Junmyeon reminds him. “And it’ll be snowing for a while, Jikfaan. There’s no rush.”

“I know _that_ ,” the dragon drawls, looking like a petulant teenager as he rolls his eyes. “But this is the first time in a long time where I get to play with someone. Everyone else is too… small.” He snorts. “You’re pretty small, too. But you’re bigger than Jongdae.”

Junmyeon scoffs. “Hey!” He stoops to the ground, gathering snow. Reeling his arm backward, he flings a ball straight at Jikfaan. It catches him squarely in the snout.

“It got in my nose!” He swings around and snorts violently. Once he’s finished, though, Jikfaan’s eyes narrow. Junmyeon feels a heavy rock of regret sink into his gut. “Why you little —!” The dragon uses his whiskers as scoops, packing together snow of his own.

“You’re still calling me little?” Junmyeon cackles. Darting behind a tree, he gathers some ammunition. He flings three snowballs blindly, doing a little cheer when he hears Jikfaan’s incensed roar. He fails to take into account, however, that he’s in the open once his victory dance is over. Wide open. Open enough for Jikfaan to lob a large snowball — snow _boulder_ , really — straight at him, slamming straight into his chest. The sheer size and density of the snowball knock him off his feet, and he hits the ground with a pitiful _whump_.

He’s glad Yixing bundled him up so nicely, but the extra padding doesn’t stop the air from being forced out of his lungs. Junmyeon just lays there as he catches his breath. He probably should’ve given some sort of indication that he was all right, however, because Jikfaan lets out a little cry of “Oh no!” and zips to his side.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t be dead! I don’t know my own strength, and I didn’t think I’d hurt you this badly but —” Jikfaan splutters as Junmyeon swipes snow into his face with a swing of his arm. “Stop getting snow in my nose!”

Junmyeon guffaws at the whine, springing to his feet. “Don’t be such a big baby. Come on, let’s build a snowman.” He marches straight past the dragon, who whines some more and flicks his tail as one would stamp their foot.

“I mean it — no more nose snow!”

There’s plenty more nose snow. It’s almost too easy to get the other riled up, but Junmyeon eventually realizes it’s much better watching JIkfaan smile. Once he finally promises to to aim purposefully for the dragon’s nostrils as they play in the snow, Jikfaan takes to gushing about how he hasn’t built a snowman in a long time.

“It doesn’t snow in the Southern Westland,” he explains. “If it does, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience that occurs once every other century or so. The only times I’ve ever built snowmen were when I was visiting here during the winter.”

“You were friends with the prince, weren’t you? Did you visit often?” Junmyeon readjusts their little project’s arms, which are crooked as Jikfaan just stabbed them in there.

“Yes, Min — he and I were best friends. We’d take turns visiting each other every other year.” He looks a little sheepish, though Junmyeon isn’t sure what for. Friendship is nothing to be ashamed of.

“Minho and I used to build snowmen together,” Junmyeon comments. “Before he got obnoxious.”

“Is he really that bad?” Jikfaan blinks. “You never seem to mention him in a good light — at least, about him in the present.”

“I don’t?” He hadn’t thought about it, but in hindsight, he acknowledges he hasn’t been painting the best picture of Minho for Jikfaan, while everyone else gets a stunning portrait with a few admitted flaws. “I suppose I just… didn’t part with him on the best of terms. The last time I saw him was when I went to look for father. Our conversation prior to my departure wasn’t… the best.”

“What… what did he say?” 

Junmyeon can feel his blood start to boil at the thought of the memory, but Jikfaan had asked so gently and plaintively that he can’t say no. “oh, just some nonsense about how we were meant to be together because he was such a manly hunter and I was this little, obedient househusband.”

Jikfaan wrinkles his nose. “You’re not obedient.” He slaps the snowman’s head on extra hard for emphasis. “At all.”

“Only to dragons, and he’s been saying things like that to me for months! I don’t know what’s gotten into him, if he’s just decided he’d like to, what, settle down and have a family? With _me_ no less. Not a nice girl from the village who is equally good at cooking or cleaning. I know plenty of people who would _love_ to marry Minho. The blacksmith’s son has been mooning over him for years. He’s never paid him any heed.”

“In any case,” JIkfaan says, “he’s wrong. Just because you cooked and cleaned or whatever doesn’t mean that you’re meant to be the perfect househusband, and just because he’s big and strong doesn’t mean that he’s the perfect husband for you. You should marry someone you love.”

“Yes!” Junmyeon throws his hands up. “Thank you! It’s just… at the risk of sounding conceited, he’s so _fixated_ on me. I don’t see how he’s so persistent in marrying me. Me, of all people.”

“Well,” Jikfaan mumbles, “I can think of a few reasons why someone would want to marry you.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

They decide not to speak of Minho any longer, instead returning their attention back to the snowman. It’s certainly not the most beautiful creation in the world. Jikfaan’s errant, absent-minded tail flicks have torn out more of the snowman’s frame than is desirable, each “oops” the dragon utters as endearing as the last. Completing the snowman seems to be an accomplishment in it of itself; they’ve miraculously managed not to bowl it over as they worked, and they even managed to get a napping Yixing to fork over clothes so that the completed project was not a naked snowman.

And it sure is something, lopsided circles and all. Junmyeon will not claim to be a phenomenal artist — he’s not Taeyeon — abut Jikfaan’s definition of circle seems to vary wildly from the average person’s. It makes Junmyeon wonder if he’s ever seen a circle in his life. He even bristles when Junmyeon points out they look more like eggs, retorting that “eggs are hard to draw.” Truly, it’s just Junmyeon who can’t appreciate Jikfaan’s artistic prowess — though Jongdae’s laughter from inside the castle can be heard even in the courtyard.

They’re only able to appreciate their masterpiece for so long, as Junmyeon quickly finds his fingers to be freezing after patting Jikfaan’s side in a gesture of camaraderie. Deciding they’d rather not sacrifice his poor appendages, they return to the safety of the castle and it's incredibly efficient ondol.

They retreat to Jikfaan’s room after being very violently toweled off by Minseok. It’s the first time that Junmyeon has stepped foot in the room since his first night in the castle; he’s only ever hovered in the doorway, as he did that morning. Try as he might, the pure expression of fury on JIkfaan’s face is hard to forget. Thankfully, the circumstances of his presence are much better this time around, and the deadly snarl is replaced with a warm smile. The enchanted rose still sits in its place by the window, looking smaller than he’d seen it last. Junmyeon pushes the implications of this minor detail from his mind, instead taking Jikfaan’s invitation to sit on his nest and make himself comfortable.

“Han should be coming up with Zitao and some tea soon,” Jikfaan tells him, flopping down beside him with a thump. “Should warm you right up.”

“Thank you,” Junmyeon responds, observing his surroundings. The room certainly _looks_ tidier than it had a few weeks ago. More inhabited, as if someone _really_ messy was living there. With a hint of shame mixed with nostalgia, he realizes this is what Sehun must’ve thought of his cleanliness. At Banwolseong, he took extra care to pick up after himself, not wanting to make any more work for the poor servants. Clearly, he should’ve thought to afford himself a similar luxury.

Leaning back on his hands, the heel of his palm comes in contact with something sharp and pointy. He yelps and draws his hand back. It’s not bleeding, butt here is an indentation from his weight.

“Are you all right?” Jikfaan asks. Using his whiskers, he rummages through the fabric until he comes across the offending object. “Oh! I forgot I left this here. I’m sorry.”

He pulls a book out from the covers and places it down on the hardwood floor. Junmyeon picks it up and Jikfaan dips his head shyly.

“ _The Dan-ga of Yun Seondo_ ,” Junmyeon reads aloud. “You read?”

“… Did you think I was illiterate?” The previously embarrassed look on Jikfaan’s face is replaced with something accusatory and a little bitter.

Junmyeon quickly waves his hands in disagreement. “No, no, no! I meant to ask that you read _poetry_. You just don’t seem the type. That’s all.”

Jikfaan seems satisfied with his amendment, and adopts a curious expression. “What do I look like then, if not a reader of poetry? I’m not too fond of scientific or regular pedantic and academic works, that’s true. They bore me.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that,” Junmyeon tells him, putting a finger to his chin. “I feel like you’re a bit of a romantic. Good versus evil, good always wins, love conquers all. Or, you look like the type of person to enjoy a good cry. Have you read that Borderland story about two star-crossed lovers? The one about dueling families? That seems to be your type.”

“Please, I have more taste than that,” Jikfaan deadpans. “i’m rather hurt you think so lowly of me.”

Junmyeon pouts. Jikfaan just called him tasteless to his face. “I happen to like that story.” Sure, Siwon’s library was small, meaning he didn’t have a variety of literary masterpieces to choose from, but he’d thought the foreign classic was a worthwhile read.

Jikfaan, though, has the decency to look flustered. “I’m just saying,” he mutters. “You could be reading a lot better than _that_. I just happened to be exposed to finer oeuvres.” He sniffs. “I had a rather expensive education.”

“I can tell.” Junmyeon flips the book open. It’s worn, cover flopping back in forth in a clear display of overuse. Pages yellowed, Junmyeon flips ot the dog-eared ones. There are slight dents in the page, as if Jikfaan absently drew his claw along the paper as he read. It’s sweet, to imagine the dragon so lost in thought.

“Did you read often, back home?” asks Jikfaan, making Junmyeon look up.

“As much as I could, when I had the time.” He smiles, recalling how he and Siwon used to curl up by the candlelight to read. Little moments of silence where he could transport himself to another world, free of responsibilities and worries were what made his life, to him. He loved his brothers and sisters, there was no doubt about that, but he also appreciated the quieter moments, the solitude. “I didn’t have a lot of it, but I would say I was an avid reader, yes.”

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Jikfaan grins toothily. “Being able to live so many different lives, see so many other worlds, all without leaving your own. It’s like staring out a window for hours, just watching. And it’s a nice way to forget about all of the things weighing down on you. You cease to exist, just become an observer. And more often than not, it’s peaceful.”

Junmyeon watches the dragon’s tail tap the floor in interest as he speaks. He nods. “I wish I could read more. Exploring Banwolseong is fun, but I think Tao’s getting tired of dragging me to every nook and cranny here.” Tracing his finger along the creases in the nest, he ducks his head ruefully. “I miss being able to sit down and enjoy a good book every now and then.”

“Well… you can start with that one.” Jikfaan taps the book of dan-ga with his muzzle. “I’ve read the entire thing more times than I can count. You can borrow it and tell me what you thought of it when you’re done. It’s another one of those ‘look into another world’ stories. It’d be nice to hear another’s perspective on them.”

“Really?” Junmyeon clutches the book to his chest.

“Yeah,” Jikfaan shrugs. “Why not? It’s good stuff.”

Junmyeon thanks him profusely and, when prompted, reads a little for Jikfaan, reciting a dan-ga about a fisherman and his companions.

…

Though the weather soon warmed, Jikfaan still entices Junmyeon to stay inside with the promise of a gift. Normally, Junmyeon would just wave off presents, a reaction born of wanting his younger siblings to have the best instead. But Jikfaan just seemed so excited that he couldn’t bear to refuse him.

It should be any other day. He wakes up, hair tangled around him in angry knots and sleep needing to be rubbed from his eyes. He rolls out of his futon and holds his arms out for Yixing to slide some clothes on while he’s still groggy. Refreshing himself with the basin in the corner and relieving himself with the chamberpot in the adjacent room, he makes his way to the door, ready to start a new day. The one difference in his routine is finding Jikfaan waiting for him outside — the abruptness of the dragon’s presence makes Junmyeon yelp in alarm.

“I have a present for you!” Jikfaan chirps, seemingly ignoring his distress. “We can eat breakfast after I show it to you.”

“Um,” says Junmyeon eloquently. “Sure.”

“There’s a catch, though,” Jikfaan continues. He holds out a huge, scaly paw. “You have to cover your eyes. I promise I won’t make you run into anything.

Given what Junmyeon’s seen of his interactions with Minseok, making the clock chase him around to get his attention, he has his doubts. But he also suspects that Jikfaan’s the most playful he’s been in years. And, in any case, Minseok doesn’t look bothered so much as amused.

Noting his silence, Jikfaan nudges him. “Do you trust me?”

Junmyeon pauses, internally chuckling at Jikfaan’s crestfallen expression, then shrugs and nods. “Yes. I do.” He reaches out and takes the other’s hand.

“Good,” Jikfaan grins. “Now, cover your eyes.”

Junmyeon does so, and feels the dragon start to tug him lightly forward. He fumbles for the wall, measuring the amount of steps on the staircase based on its slope. Jikfaan leads him through a series of hallways, positively vibrating with excitement. Though he knows it’ll ruin the surprise, Junmyeon tries to remember which corridors lead to where, but as he recalls the number of right and left turns they’ve taken, he realizes he has no idea where they are. He asks, but receives a hush, Jikfaan telling him to have patience, that they’re almost there.

Eventually, they come to a sudden, unwarned stop. Jikfaan tugs him backwards to presumably stop him from walking into a wall. The dragon gently guides him into the doorway, and Junmyeon can hear him bouncing around him in circles.

“You didn’t peek, did you?” Jikfaan asks. “You can uncover your eyes now.”

Junmyeon does, blinking at the sudden eruption of light. His vision returns to him slowly, but the absolute feeling of amazement and euphoria hits him all at once.

Jikfaan’s brought him to a library. It’s the largest one he’s ever seen. There are shelves upon shelves, reaching all the way up to a vaulted ceiling. Shaped into little diamond cubbies, scrolls and pamphlets stuff the room full.

“Do you like it?” Jikfaan is no longer thrilled, edging instead on bashful and uncertain.

Junmyeon whirls to look at him, catching Jikfaan off guard. “Yes!” he cries. “I love it! It’s amazing, it’s… Oh, I’ve never seen so many books in my life!”

Jikfaan smiles, looking relieved. “I’m glad. You told me before that your father’s library was small, and you’ve exhausted the literature in the reception rooms, so… I figured it was time to bring this out.”

“Ng Jikfaan,” Junmyeon says, putting his hands on his hips, “I’ve lived here an entire winter and you only thought to show me the grand library now?”

The dragon’s eyes widen. “I just wanted — I wanted to clean it up for you first! I kind of… left it in a mess for the past ten years, so… I just wanted to make sure it looked really nice for you.”

Junmyeon walks towards him with tiny, light steps, endeared by the way the dragon fidgets. “I was just teasing you,” he tells him. ONce close enough, he wraps his arms around Jikfaan’s neck, letting the dragon’s massive head rest on his shoulder. “Thank you so much. This is the most wonderful gift anyone has ever given me.”

Jikfaan goes stock-still for a moment before relaxing in his hold. There’s warmth as well as weight in the looseness of his posture. They stand like that for a bit, just relishing each other’s embrace, before Jikfaan gently backs away and turns so hard he spins in a circle. “You should around,” he says after righting himself. “I’m sure you’ll find anything you want to read here. Banwolseong boasts one of the most complete archives in the Eastern World.”

“It sure looks like it. It’s _amazing_ ,” Junmyeon repeats. He has to crane his head all the way backwards to see the highest shelves. Ladders line the wall, put on wheels. “I’m, uh, not so sure about the higher ones, though.”

Jikfaan raises a brow. “Scared of heights?”

“Not scared,” he protests immediately. He’s just proved his own guilt. “Just… wary.”

“Mm-hm,” Jikfaan teases. “Well, that’s what you have me for. If you’re _wary_ about how wobbly the ladder is, I can always get there and pluck whatever book you need.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course. After all, this library is all yours, if you want.”

Junmyeon freezes. “Wait, what?”

“I, uh, said you can have the entire library, if you want. It’s just… you obviously love reading. Obviously. And you haven’t read every book in this library yet, while i’ve had ten years to get through pretty much everything. It’d be better off in your hands than mi —”

Jikfaan jerks as Junmyeon tackles him into another hug. There’s still hesitance, but not for as long as before, and Jikfaan’s claw rests on his back.

“Thank you,” Junmyeon whispers into the scales.

Siwon tried his best to amass a little library for Junmyeon’s enjoyment, but gathering books wasn’t a priority, and Junmyeon accepted that. While it wasn’t as if Jikfaan went out and got every one of the works there, he had _thought_ of him. He went through the trouble of organizing it as a surprise, and was excited when Junmyeon expressed his own joy. Junmyeon’s happiness was Jikfaan’s priority. A heat — pleasant, tender, blooms in his chest and fights to manifest in his eyes in the form of tears. He fights them back, though. Once promising himself not to cry in front of the dragon, he does so now for completely different circumstances. Instead, he smiles as widely as possible when Jikfaan lets go and allows himself to be led over to a table where breakfast has been set up for the pair of them.

They sit at the opposite ends, and Junmyeon notes the utensils laid out on the side across from him. This isn’t the first time he’s seen them on Jikfaan’s half, but he’s surprised to seem them at such a small table, fearful of a spill. Jikfaan had begun relearning how to use chopsticks and a spoon at some point during Junmyeon’s stay; he never caught the beginning of it. The effort certainly made things easier for Junmyeon, who was grateful that it eased his conscience enough that he no longer had to copy the dragon. It brought Jikfaan one step closer back to his humanity, though it’s clear his heart is already human, regardless of his monstrous frame.

Their meal is completed in pleasant enough conversation. Jikfaan kindly asks him about what he’s read and makes gentle recommendations based off of Junmyeon’s answers. He hasn’t written any of them down (as he probably should), taken instead by the fact that this is what consideration feels like.

He loves his family, he really does. But he’s spent so much time ensuring their comfort that he’s forgotten what it’s like to be put first. Siwon does his best, but is often too tired from his job to be able to really do anything on a consistent basis, and the other children are admittedly helpful, but only if they remember to be so. Minho certainly wouldn’t do anything like this. Junmyeon is well-read and Minho is athletically-inclined; the latter has never tried to change this dynamic in any way shape or form. Probably because it would destroy his fragile sensitivity towards spousal roles.

And yet, from nearly the beginning, Jikfaan has done everything in his power to make Junmyeon feel comfortable, if not at home. From having his servants at Junmyeon’s beck and call, to gifting his entire library, to changing his ten year-old eating habits, Junmyeon’s comfort has always been at the forefront of his mind — or so it seemed. It’s more than heartwarming, another prickly feeling formulating in his core.

“You’re kind,” Junmyeon blurts, cutting off one of Jikfaan’s more animated suggestions. The dragon blinks, then looks away.

“I… I don’t know what to say. I’m not — not really.”

“Yes, you are,” Junmyeon insists. “That first day aside, you have been endlessly kind to me, and I want you to know that I appreciate that. That I appreciate _you_.”

Jikfaan shifts uncomfortably, looking everywhere except Junmyeon’s face. “I… thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Junmyeon smiles, and he makes sure Jikfaan sees the sincerity in it. “Say, do you have _Remembering the Western Travels_ here? I’ve always wanted to read it.”

At once, it seems, the awkward air around them dissolves. Jikfaan chuckles. “I’m… sure it’s in here somewhere. Would you like me to look for it for you?”

It isn’t the only novel Jikfaan finds on the shelves for Junmyeon, but it is the first time Junmyeon notices his heartbeat quicken when his fingers brush against Jikfaan’s claws, and how his cheeks flush with warmth whenever the dragon looks at him.

…

It’s hard to believe that Junmyeon has been living in the castle for a little over three months. The spring warmth hasn’t yet fully arrived, but the snow at least has stopped and flowers have started to bud. To celebrate the occasion, and to make up for missing Seollal, Jikfaan proposed a littler dance of sorts. It was obvious by the flabbergasted expression on the dragon’s face that he hadn’t expected him to agree. But since the words had already been spoken, it wasn’t as if they could be taken back.

Out of everyone involved, it seems like Yixing is enjoying himself the most. He’s a lot more talkative than Junmyeon remembers him being, though it’s not exactly a bad thing. “The blue looks good on you,” Yixing appraises, spitting out parts of different colored hanbok. “But maybe if you mix it up with some red hues…”

“Um,” Junmyeon gasps, finally free of the fabric being yanked over and around him, “I don’t really think you really need to worry about the color coordination —”

“No, no, no!” Yixing says sharply. A draw slings out and upward like he’s holding up a reprimanding finger. “The first flower amidst the snow is the most beautiful, but also the most frail. This is important.” Without saying another word, he went back to rifling through the clothes housed within him.

It isn’t as if Junmyeon hated wearing hanbok, he just doesn’t think the private gathering of a man and a dragon necessitated such extravagant dress.

“A-ha!”

He jumps.

Laid out on his bed is a set of golden clothes. The _sokgui_ is a light yellow, incredibly soft and almost translucent. The _jeogori_ is a rich gold, covered in glittering designs of flowers. The _baji_ is of a darker shade and smooth as silk. This is no regular attire. Someone important commissioned this, greater than any tailor’s passion project. Junmyeon runs his fingers over the fabric. “This is… exquisite. Are you certain I’m allowed to wear this?”

One of Yixing’s doors shutting gives the impression of a snort. “Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be? What’s his is yours.”

Junmyeon’s eyes widen. “This is _Jikfaan’s_?”

“Hm? Oh, uh, yes. They’re… his. Well, he’d want you to wear it, at any rate.”

And Junmyeon can’t argue with that. Once he managed to nicely wear the clothes put out for him, Yixing produced a mirror for him. His breath catches in his throat.

He’s never seen himself as beautiful before, never dared to think it simply because he didn’t believe it was true. And yet, here he was. The decorations on his _jeogori_ seemed to make him glow, the airy softness of his _sokgui_ giving off an ethereal air. His hair is pulled into a tight knot with a honey-colored sash that cascaded down his shoulders with the rest of his hair. His bangs framed his face nicely. The few cosmetics Yixing managed to find at the the very back of his lowest drawer accentuated his cheeks, pink and round, as well as his lips, adding a slight gloss. Yixing had done well. “I.. I don’t know what to say. Thank you, I suppose.”

“You’re very welcome, I suppose,” Yixing teases.

Before Junmyeon can say anything else, someone knocks on his door. “Dinner’s ready!” It’s Lu Han. 

“Wish me luck?” Junmyeon asks, smoothing down his already impeccable clothing.

Yixing doesn’t have a mouth to smile with, but his voice gives off the impression just as well. “Good luck.”

Junmyeon turns and opens the door, coming face to face with the tea set sitting on a tray. “Hello,” he says. It’s taken some work, but the three months have eventually allowed him to get used to communicating with household objects.

“Junmyeon,” Lu Han breathes.

“You look _soooo_ handsome!” Tao trills, making him blush.

He manages to respond with a tentative smile. “I… thank you.”

The brothers accompany him to the dining hall, Tao chattering away about how he hasn’t seen that hanbok in a long time, and Lu Han hushing him. In truth, Junmyeon doesn’t hear a word the tea cup says. He’s too busy focusing on the clamminess of his hands, the butterflies fluttering away in his stomach. He has no idea why he’s so nervous — he’s seen Jikfaan every day since he came to the palace, and yet… For whatever reason, tonight is _special_.

Junmyeon nearly stops breathing altogether when Lu Han announces him and pushes the doors open with his tray. Jikfaan is already seated at the end of the table, dressed in a heavy- looking robe. His scales gleam brighter than usual, and the nervous giggle that was threatening to burst out of Junmyeon’s chest takes form as he imagines Jikfaan painstakingly shining each scale upon his body.

Jikfaan looks up from his lap, seemingly embarrassed, and Junmyeon regrets laughing out loud. “Oh, hello.” The dragon pauses. “You look… very nice.”

Junmyeon bows his head. He feels foolish as he does so, the first gesture of reverence he’s ever shown Jikfaan, even if he was a prince. “Thank you. So do you.” He takes his seat from across Jikfaan and appraises the food before them.

The wait staff really did prepare for the occasion. There’s no shortage of side dishes and the roasted duck and pork sitting at the centerpiece of the table ooze deliciousness. But he dares not take a bite before the prince does. There is something different about tonight, and he can feel it. From the minimalist decorations, to the stiffness of Jikfaan’s posture as he carefully wraps a whisker around his pair of chopsticks. Taking a piece of pork belly — dripping with juice — he deposits it on Junmyeon’s plate. “Eat,” murmurs Jikfaan.

So Junmyeon does. He takes a bite, and another, and another, and another, until any uneasiness he’d previously felt burns away. As they eat, they converse, and it starts to feel like any other meal. Except, he can’t help but note, Jikfaan steals more glances at him between mouthfuls than usual.

The tension ebbs away as they share a laugh about how long they both took to prepare, and a little wine in Junmyeon’s system makes him a little braver. “So,” begins Junmyeon, “why don’t we just get along with that dancing? It’s a staple of Seollal festivals, after all.” 

Jikfaan blanches. “I don’t know any of the steps.”

“Neither do I,” Junmyeon admits. He reaches over the table, not quite close enough to touch Jikfaan’s paw. “But we don’t have to be accurate if it’s just the two us. And _you_ suggested it in the first place.”

“I’m a _dragon_.”

“You can improvise.”

Jikfaan still doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t protest as Junmyeon walks around the table to take his hand. He utters a single “are you _sure_?” once dragged bodily into the performance hall as a final plea. The candles adorning the walls were dimly lit — enough to generate light in the room, not so much that it was entirely illuminated. It becomes harder to see Jikfaan as he steps away, closer to the shadows.

Junmyeon chuckles nervously. “So now what? Do we.. I don’t even know if the music —” He jumps as the strings of a gayageum start plucking of their own accord.

“I think it’s just a lot of spinning,” Jikfaan says dryly. He looks amused, and Junmyeon flushes.

Luckily for him, the tempo is moderate, manageable. The girls in town usually had fans or long sleeves as they danced, but he was sure that he could make do without them. He gingerly lifts his hand, losing his nerve briefly and averting his eyes from Jikfaan’s. He waves a slow circle before him. He remembers Hyoyeon in the square, the grace she held as she spun and whirled.

He can just feel the weight of Jikfaan’s eyes on him, and all he can do is hope that it’s not judgmental or mocking. He knows he will never be his adoptive sister, that Jongin and Taemin’s effortless and masculine poise will always elude him. He’s never been a good dancer in his life, and saying yes was the dumbest thing he’s ever done, but — no, he’s overthinking it. Jongin always told him that getting too in your head will affect your performance, and while he definitely doesn’t consider himself to be of Jongin’s caliber, Junmyeon knew he was getting too cerebral for his own good.

The movements start to come easier once he realizes the fact. He no longer mimics his memory, but generates moves of his own. Every swerve, every dip is tinged with remembrance, but it’s not replication. It’s _him_. He stops thinking about the motion and lets himself get pulled along but the current of the music.

Junmyeon looks at Jikfaan again, raising his brows. The dragon merely stares at him, motionless in the air. Junmyeon _thinks_ it’s not humor in his eyes, but it certainly can’t be awe. “Well?” he says. The sudden word spooks Jikfaan. “I thought we were going to dance together. Aren’t you going to join me?”

Jikfaan splutters as Junmyeon half-turns and offers his hand. “What… what would I do?” Jikfaan asks. “I don’t exactly have the right… physicality to do… that.” He gulps and looks off to the side. Junmyeon’s hand, reaching gently up to guide Jikfaan’s head back towards him makes the dragon jump and tremble. Jikfaan titters nervously, “Maybe I should just stick to observing, as I’m not entirely sure what you would like me to do —”

Junmyeon marvels at how smooth and warm Jikfaan’s scales are beneath his grasp. Rising to his tiptoes, he moves his other hand to cup the dragon’s face. His eyes, golden and mesmerizing, flicker from Junmyeon’s own to the floor. “I just want you to dance with me, Jikfaan. It’s not that complicated.”

He removes his hands from Jikfaan’s muzzle to grasp at his claws instead, and guides him in a gentle twirl, gayageum resuming a steady tempo. The dragon’s weight is a mixture of nonexistent and foreboding as they move in unison. Jikfaan is smaller than he’d imagined most dragons would be, yet he’s still large and had once been imposing prior to showing his true colors as nothing short of a dark. Perhaps part of the reason Jikfaan seems to have weight is that he’s resisting being moved along, but as more instruments join, he seems to be letting himself go just a bit more.

The moment it appears obvious that Jikfaan is willing to move of his own volition, Junmyeon releases him. Jikfaan takes advantage of the length of his frame. He moves almost like a ribbon, free-flowing and swirling Junmyeon in an emerald spiral. They move in tandem to the buzz of the daegeum and the heavy thrum of the puk. It’s not the traditional dancing either had in mind, but it is better than nothing. Junmyeon might even go so far as to say it’s fun.

Which each gliding step and effervescent twirl, they grow closer and closer. The room is simultaneously large and small — they clearly have room to sway and twist together, yet it’s just big enough for them. Even with their musicians tucked away in a corner, Junmyeon can only see himself and Jikfaan. The dragon’s steady confidence grows with each movement until he even finds it in himself to start performing aerial tricks. He leaves Junmyeon’s immediate vicinity for the low ceiling to sail across the open air. Junmyeon laughs as Jikfaan moves, heart swelling when the dragon mirrors his mirth. The music draws to a close and Jikfaan finishes with a flurry. He drifts across the room, occupying the entirety of the space with the size of his maneuvers, before returning to Junmyeon and curling around him as he spins, a vortex of verdant scales.

As the music cuts off, so do the lights, and all that brightens the performance hall is the moonlight shining through the patterned screens. At their proximity, Junmyeon can still make out Jikfaan’s features. The both of them are panting with exhaustion, but only Junmyeon bears beads of sweat upon his brow. Jikfaan’s face is so close to his Junmyeon’s cheeks start to burn and his collar starts to feel a little wet. He exhales shakily.

“Beautiful,” Jikfaan murmurs quietly. His eyes never leave Junmyeon’s nostrils puffing out a spurt or two of steam. He finally catches himself staring and looks away. “Let’s get some fresh air, shall we? It’s too hot in here.” Jikfaan doesn’t wait for Junmyeon’s answer — though it was never goign to be a rejection — and opens the doors leading to the courtyard. THe moonlight fully bathes the wooden flooring, casting the dragon’s long shadow. Junmyeon follows him into the night.

Jikfaan takes a seat by the edge of the pond and smiles as Junmyeon carefully places himself on the ground. His attempts at keeping his hanbok clean seem to amuse him. The dragon raises his gaze to the night sky, a sigh that is almost wistful leaving his mouth. Junmyeon observes him as the dragon tries to say something and then promptly aborts the motion. He deliberates, editing his sentences before he voices them. Eventually, Jikfaan settles on a tiny speech.

“Junmyeon,” he says, dear and a little unsure, “I have… grown to deeply appreciate your presence here over the past few months. I admit, I was not kind to you, and that I was inconsiderate of your feelings when you first came here. But over time, I learned to see you as a friend.” He hesitates, whiskers twitching. “Now, I may even see you as… more. What I mean to ask you is… do you think you might be t-tempted to… to one day reciprocate my affection?”

Junmyeon’s smile fades. He had known there was something between them, that the feelings he had for Jikfaan were more than just amicable friendship. But the circumstances in which they were cultivated made him uneasy. Was it truly how he felt, or was it forced out of him by compulsory proximity? He leans towards the former, though he can’t be sure. “I don’t know,” Junmyeon answers honestly.

“Do you… do you think you could be happy here?” There is such him in Jikfaan’s eyes, such joy, that Junmyeon is loathe to respond. “With me?”

“Can I be truly happy if I am not free?” His chest aches as Jikfaan deflates, and he fights back the urge to touch him. The last thing Junmyeon wants is to seem patronizing. He clenches and unclenches his fists in his lap.

Finally, Jikfaan speaks again. “Is there anything I can do… at this moment? To make you happy?” The longing he once exhibited is replaced with resignation. Junmyeon can tell that Jikfaan is trying his hardest not to let it slump into disheartenment.

Junmyeon bites his lip. The question’s just as loaded as the two Jikfaan just asked. There is so much he wants to ask for so much he wants even as he is waited on, hand and foot, and, dare he think it, _loved_ at Banwolseong. Rather, he chooses a small favor. It need not be granted. “I’d like to see my father again,” he says, “just for a moment. I miss him so much.”

Jikfaan takes in his request, then nods. “Wait here,” he commands, not unkindly. He takes to the sky and disappears over the roof of the palace. He resurfaces by the tower in the East Wing. He dives into the window of his room and returns briefly later, a glittering object held in one paw. He places it gently at Junmyeon’s feet. “The enchantress gave me this,” he explains. “It allows me to see whatever I want, so long as I ask. To torture me, I suppose. Go on, use it.”

The dragon nudges it towards him twice before Junmyeon dares to pick it up, both apprehensive and skeptical. He finally takes it in his hand. “I… I would like to see my father,” he says haltingly.

A fog clouds the mirror, initially thought by Junmyeon to be a cloud overhead, before the obstruction clears and reveals the center of town. Junmyeon bites back his gasp. Siwon is backed into a corner by a mob and at the front of it — Junmyeon fails to stop the sharp breath — is Minho. Siwon’s own son.

“You don’t understand!” Siwon shouts. The sound is crisp and clear, and Junmyeon can feel Jikfaan’s concerned gaze over his shoulder. “Junmyeon’s been taken captive by a dragon! A beast from the castle Banwolseong! We have to go save him. Who knows what that monster is doing to him as we speak? It’s been _months_ , he might even be dead! At least go to retrieve his body!”

“Father,” Minho says, “as you said, it has been _months_. For months, we have entertained your delusions. For months, we have tolerated your outbursts. Our trip into the forest was evidence enough that no such monster exists, and this supposed castle of yours is just your imagination. Junmyeon likely ran off, to go on one of those little adventures he loves reading about.” He reaches out to pacify his father, scowling when his hands are slapped away.

“You left me to _die_ in that forest! Were it not for Shoo, I’d have been wolf food. _You_ refused to listen to me, but…” Siwon turns to the rest of the crowd, beseeching. “Please. My son is at the mercy of a monster. You _have_ to help me save him. Please!”

Minho snarls, seizing his father by the arm. “I should’ve taken you to the shaman as soon as you started spouting this nonsense. And I will, first thing tomorrow morning. But for tonight, you must be _silenced_ and put away, for the good of the rest of his.” He jerks him away, and Junmyeon drops the mirror to cover his mouth. It falls to the ground with a soft thump.

“I have to get to him,” Junmyeon gasps. He looks up at Jikfaan, who gazes back with pity. “They’re… I don’t know what Minho’s going to do with him. I need to _help_ him!” It’s all he can do to keep from bursting into hysterics, hyperventilating as it is.

“I know,” Jikfaan tells him. He holds out a paw, showing Junmyeon a golden band with a single ruby set in it. “To remember me by.”

“W-what? Jikfaan, you’re —”

“I’m letting you go,” Jikfaan says. His voice trembles at the end. Junmyeon’s chest is caving in on itself. “Hurry, you haven’t much time. Take Chanyeol. Go save your father.”

Jikfaan retrieves the mirror from the floor, placing it in Junmyeon’s clammy hands. “Take this too,” the dragon says. “So you won’t forget.”

Junmyeon blinks rapidly, though it serves only to make his tears fall rather than keep them at bay. “Thank you,” he whispers. He jumps upward to press a quick, feathery-light kiss to Jikfaan’s cheek. “Thank you, Jikfaan.”

And then he runs. He sprints all the way to the stables and unhitches Chanyeol. The beast needs no coaxing to bolt off, spurred by his rider’s anguish. Together, the two hurtle through the forest. The fear of wolves is long behind them both. Junmyeon’s first and only priority is Siwon. Even his fancy new clothes, which he had so meticulously cared for the whole night, were discarded — he tosses his heavy jeogori into the dirt to make Chanyeol’s burden lighter and his hooves faster. And yet, while Siwon’s safety is at the forefront of his mind, he still thinks of Jikfaan. Just as they pass beyond the boundary of the forest, he looks back to see the tip of the Eastern tower, and even harder to see is the line of green stretched across it's shingles. Jikfaan’s ring sits heavily on his left index finger.

…

By the time he arrives to town, Siwon is nowhere to be seen. The crowd is still gathered at the center, bombarding Minho with questions about Siwon’s claims. Junmyeon careens to a halt, nearly bowling over the baker as he jumps down from Chanyeol’s back. He stalks to Minho’s side, yanking him down by his collar. “What have you done to my father?”

“Junmyeon!” he shouts, clearly shocked. “You’re still alive!” He’s not expecting the aggression, let alone Junmyeon’s presence, and it shows on his face. He clutches Junmyeon to his chest, crushing the elder’s head into his pectoral muscles.

“Careful with your words, Junmyeon,” Minho hisses. He plucks Junmyeon’s hands from his clothes and holds them for a smidge too long to be reassuring. “He’s my father more than yours.”

“Not if you locked him away,” Junmyeon sneers. “No good son would stuff his father away, let alone leave him to die in the forest!” It’s difficult to think of Minho capable of such cruelty, no matter how much father and son fought, but Siwon wouldn’t lie. Especially about such a thing as attempted murder.

A look of exasperation crosses Minho’s face, and the hunter turns to address the crowd. “I _didn’t_ leave my father to die. I went with him to look for Junmyeon and that blasted dragon’s castle, but he grew hysterical when he realized there was no way to reach this so-called _Banwolseong_. He pitched a fit and I let him cool down, only for him to wander off into the unknown! It was pure luck Shoo found him — and I am deeply thankful for that.”

“That’s not true!” Junmyeon jumps, whirling around to the carriage he had previously ignored. Looking every bit a prisoner, Siwon pressed his face up to the bars. “There _is_ a dragon, and he took us captive! I don’t know why or how the tree repaired itself, but it did and Banwolseong was unreachable. What Minho refers to as my _hysterics_ was my accusation that he wanted to save Junmyeon solely to steal his heart, and even though he _is_ my son, I refused to give Junmyeon away to a man he didn’t love!” The carriage shakes and wobbles, almost indicative of Siwon’s rage.

“Father!” Junmyeon cries. He scrambles for the lock on the carriage doors, but Minho pulls him away and turns him around.

“Don’t do that. We’re taking him to the shaman tomorrow to see what’s wrong with him.” Minho sighs. He’s the picture of _long-suffering_ , hands on his hips and his head shaking in disappointment. “You’ve finally come home, Junmyeon.” His expression morphs into concern, and Junmyeon can’t be more disgusted. “Why don’t you tell us what _really_ happened all winter, hm? You got lost trying to save him, and a kind family living in the woods took you in and nursed you back to help? Sound familiar?”

Junmyeon shoves him away. “He’s telling the truth! There _is_ a castle and a dragon. He’s not lying, and he’s not crazy! Now let him out!”

The villagers start to murmur among themselves, sending Junmyeon shifty glances. He can’t hear exactly what they’re saying, but he can tell that few of them are on his side. His heart plummets to his stomach. The looks they’re giving him, coupled with Minho’s grimace, make it very obvious that he’s going to be joining Siwon in that carriage soon. His fingers twitch, a fight-or-flight response short-circuiting in his brain.

“Junmyeon,” Minho drawls, and he can hear the nails starting to be hammered into his proverbial coffin, “you’ve… clearly experienced quite a bit in your time away from use. But whatever it is you’ve been through, I can assure you that it was not a dragon that held you captive. You’re clearly in shock, dear, I —”

“I can prove it!” Junmyeon blurts. Minho freezes in his tracks. Taking advantage of the momentary respite, he rushes over to Chanyeol’s saddle and pulls out the mirror. It’s luckily still intact. “Show me Jikfaan!” he says, loud enough that everyone can hear. As the glass clouds, he can hear Minho’s heavy approach, and just as he sees the other’s feet come into the view of his periphery, the fog dissipates to reveal Jikfaan, looking over his rose. He quickly whirls the mirror around, waving it in Minho’s face before shoving it towards the crowd. “You see? You _see_? He’s real! The dragon is real!”

Minho snatches the mirror from Junmyeon, staring at it with wide eyes. “What in the heavens…” He turns the mirror again to show the townsfolk, who shriek and cower in fear at Jikfaan’s visage. “He’s a savage beast! A monster!” Minho turns to him, laying a hand on Junmyeon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Junmyeon. How did you get away?”

Junmyeon breathes a sigh of relief. Finally, some sense. “He let me go,” he admits truthfully. “I know he may _look_ frightening, and while he used to have a bit of a temper, Jikfaan isn’t —”

Before he can finish, the villagers burst with questions.

“He _let you go_?”

“His name’s Jikfaan?"

“If he has a temper, why would he have released you?"

“Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”

“What?” Junmyeon chokes, incredulous. “ _No_! He would never hurt me! Jikfaan is kind, and smart, and funny, and he would never hurt anybody! Really, you’re misunderstanding everything —”

“Siwon said the dragon imprisoned him for life because he picked a rose, until you traded places with him.”

“Well, yes, but —”

“He said he feared for his life!”

“Jikfaan’s not a monster!” he shouts. “He’s a good person. He’s misunderstood, and if you would just _listen_ to me —”

“The dragon's clearly hurt him,” Minho murmurs, looking up from the mirror. All of the clamor quiets, including Junmyeon, and everyone turns to look at him. “Do these words sound like they’re from a sane man? ‘He’s misunderstood?’ Junmyeon, he kept you prisoner for _three months_! What did he to do to make you believe he was really good? Did he let you go on little walks with him? Did he give you the castle library so you could read your heart out while kept in captivity?” He grabs Junmyeon’s left hand roughly and yanks it up to eye level. “Did he give you _this ring_ and tell you that he loved you?”

“Yes, yes he did but not in the way you’re implying!”

Junmyeon seethes, trying to pry his wrist free from the hunter’s grasp. All he does is make the grip tighter, and Junmyeon cries out in pain. Minho prise the ring off his finger. Disgust in his eyes, he tosses it away.

“That’s what I thought.” Minho raises the mirror above his head. “We have a dangerous beast in our midst — right at our back door, if my father is to be believed about Banwolseong’s location. He could be anywhere! His appetite, might it be immeasurable? Satisfied by the blood and flesh of your children, spouses, parents, siblings? This Jikfaan, this… this _beast_ has terrorized my father into hysteria and broken dear Junmyeon’s mind. How many more must we let fall prey to this beast before we end his reign of tyranny? I say we stop this before anyone else gets hurt! No one should have to enter our forest with the fear that they will be savaged by a dragon!”

“No,” Junmyeon breathes. He tries to grab Minho’s arm, but the other shakes him off and takes hold of his bow instead. “No!”

“I say we kill the beast!”

The town roars in agreement and Junmyeon’s heart plummets.

“Please,” he begs. No one is listening to him. They never did before, and they wouldn’t start now. “Please, no! You’d be making a huge mistake! Jikfaan is peaceful, don’t hurt him!”

Again he is ignored. The town goes into a frenzy, smashing chairs and tables to create makeshift stakes and torches. Farmers and shopkeepers alike take up pitchforks and scythes, teeth bared and ready for war. In the midst of all the chaos, Junmyeon barely registers Minho tugging him toward the carriage until he hears the lock being undone. He hadn’t even heard the noise until the doors allowed Siwon to shout “Let me out, Minho!” directly into his intended target’s face before said target hurls Junmyeon into the carriage and on top of him. The doors close quickly and there is a telltale clack of the lock falling back into place.

Junmyeon groans, rolling off of Siwon and into the wall. It’s dark, especially with every torch outside being torn out to use against Jikfaan. Junmyeon jumps at the door, shoving it. It doesn’t budge. The voices begin to fade, now coalesced into unified chants, slogans about how they’re going to eviscerate the dragon. “No!” he yells. He tries to stick his hand through the bars, hoping to snag a sympathetic soul. He has no such luck. “Please, come back! Somebody!”

The footsteps get farther and farther away, heading towards the forest and Banwolseong. He feels his eyes growing wet. There’s nothing he can do, they’re going to kill Jikfaan, and he can’t do _anything_. Sinking on his knees, he puts his head in his hands. “No,” he cries. The tears flow freely, dripping down his cheeks, splattering his clothes, wetting his hands. It’s all his fault.

But it wasn’t as if the other choice was any better. Stay with Jikfaan or save Siwon. If he stayed with Jikfaan, Siwon would be sent off and labeled insane, but the villagers would never know of Jikfaan’s existence and he would be safe. But if he chose to save Siwon, which he did, he’d prove his father’s innocence — at the risk of Jikfaan’s life. He doomed JIkfaan, a man he… he deeply cared for. Junmyeon couldn’t be more miserable.

(He could, but he refuses to think of it. He can’t.)

Siwon puts a hand on his shoulder, and Junmyeon jumps. He’d almost forgotten that he was there. “Junmyeon,” Siwon says softly, and opens his arms. Siwon holds him, stroking his hair as he sobs. “Oh, Junmyeon, I’m so… I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Junmyeon sniffs. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“If I’d stayed in the city one more night, I would’ve avoided the storm. I’d never have found Banwolseong, and you’d never have had to take my place.” Siwon sighs. “And now we’re both in here. Heavens knows what Minho will do once he gets back from dealing with that dragon.”

“Jikfaan,” Junmyeon says sharply. “His name is Jikfaan.”

“…Jikfaan,” Siwon amends. He gives Junmyeon a look. “Was Minho right? About you and the dr — Jikfaan?”

“He never hurt me,” Junmyeon insists. “Jikfaan was cursed by a witch when he was young. Because he was fifteen years old, and he made a mistake. He’s not malicious, or vindictive and he certainly doesn’t feast on human flesh.” He takes hold of Siwon’s upper arms. “You have to believe me, father. Jikfaan was good to me. He made sure I wanted for almost nothing, and he was kind.”

Siwon squeezes him. “I believe you, Junmyeon. We’ll think of something.”

Just as he finishes speaking, the lock outside jiggles. Junmyeon can partially make out a group of people mumbling, before someone starts pounding roughly on the door. A pair of eyes peek into the carriage. “Psst,” their owner hisses. “Papa, Junmyeon!”

“Sehun?” Junmyeon says. The carriage is a fair bit off the ground. The boy’s grown so tall in the time Junmyeon was with Jikfaan.

Sehun’s eyes curve, indicating a smile. “You two should get away from the door. I’m going to kick it in.”

“Wait!” he hisses. “Is there anyone else with you?”

The younger turns. “We’re all here. Well, except Minho. Why?”

“I… nevermind. It’s not important. Chanyeol’s still there, yes? Just get us out of here.”

“All right, just step back.”

Still bleeding with paternal instincts, Siwon tugs Junmyeon with him back to the wall furthest from the door rather than simply letting him follow. They brace themselves, and Sehun kicks the door in. The wood splinters all over the place, but Junmyeon and Siwon are both fortunate enough to come out unscathed. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Sehun says. “Jongin, did you find that ring yet?”

The second youngest boy peeks out from behind a barrel, Soojung beside him with a torch. “Yeah, I think so. Is this it?” He holds up the gold band.

“You didn’t have to,” Junmyeon says. Taking it from Jongin and slipping it on his finger, he presses a kiss to the younger’s temple. “Thank you.”

He marches over to Chanyeol and swings onto the saddle — then he hesitates. He looks at his father, and his siblings around him. This is the first time he’s seen any of them since a year ago. And now he’s leaving right away.

As if sensing the reason for his consternation, Siwon shakes his head. “Go,” he tells him. “Save Jikfaan. He needs you more than we do. We’ll still be here when you come back.”

Junmyeon nods. “Thank you.” He twists the ring around his finger once, and then climbs onto Chanyeol's back, the steed guiding Junmyeon to his dragon's side.

…

Junmyeon is almost sure that Chanyeol is not pleased with scurrying back and forth from the village to Banwolseong, but there’s never an explicit refusal. Chanyeol takes him back with no complaints, even as he’s spooked by the riot all around them. They’re too late to stop the villagers who have attacked the castle but seemingly regret their decision as the inhabitants fight back. The moving furniture horrifies them into dropping their weapons and fleeing, though some of the more violent townsfolk remain steadfast. Junmyeon’s worried for them all, but the concern at the forefront of his mind lies with someone else.

He hears shouting from above and rushes across the bridge. Jikfaan lays, submissive and docile, on the roof of the palace below his tower. Minho stands above him, a broken shingle in his hand. He slaps Jikfaan across the face with it, breaking the tile.

“No!” Junmyeon screams. “Jikfaan!”

Jikfaan looks up, staring at him with awe. “Junmyeon,” he cries. “You came back, you —” He’s cut off as Minho plants his foot into his sternum. Jikfaan gasps, the breath torn out of him.

“Minho, stop!” Junmyeon shrieks. “Don’t do this!”

He has to get up there, has to stop Minho from doing anything drastic. Chanyeol comes to a stop at the great doors, and Junmyeon hops off quickly to dart into the palace. Ducking as a coat rack swings at the cobbler, he darts into the East Wing, which thankfully seems to have escaped the violence. He hopes that the others — Minseok, Jongdae, Lu Han, and Tao — have avoided the carnage as well. it’s clear, though, that Jikfaan hasn’t.

Junmyeon races up the stairs. The door to the Sun Room is tantalizing close. His lungs burn as he forces himself forward, and he doubles over to catch his breath briefly.

Jikfaan’s bedroom is destroyed. The scraps of cloth are now just small strips strewn across the floor, his bedframe has been hacked to pieces. Only his rose still stands upright in it's jar, but there’s only one petal left. Only so long that Jikfaan has left.

He heaves himself towards the window, catching himself on the windowsill. “Jikfaan!” he shrieks. “Minho, stop, leave him alone! _Please_!”

The hunter ignores him, reaching back into his quiver. The dragon lies beneath him, seemingly pliant. Suddenly, Jikfaan rears up. He throws his whole weight behind the movement, knocking Minho off balance. The arrows fall out of his quiver bit by bit until he manages to right himself. Jikfaan snarls, on the offensive. He’s the complete opposite of how he appeared when Junmyeon returned.

New life has been breathed into him. Enraged, Minho throws himself at Jikfaan. He catches the dragon by his horns, and the two wrestle. Jikfaan bows his head, throwing himself forward so that he smashes right into Minho’s center. He lets out a huff and loses his grip. Jikfaan flings him away, batting him with his tail into the wall.

“Stop,” Jikfaan says sternly. “I do not wish to kill you.” He darts around one of the Haetae on the roof, and Junmyeon looks for a way to climb safely down to him.

“Coward,” Minho spits. He rises unsteadily on his feet, gripping his side. “Are you in _love_ with Junmyeon, beast? Did you _really_ think someone like him would love a monster like you when he had _me_?”

Incensed, Jikfaan leaves his hiding space. He lunges for Minho, jaws wide open. Minho produces a knife from his belt, big and sharp. He braces himself for Jikfaan’s attack, but doesn’t expect to be bitten in the wrist. He yells in pain and drops his knife. Jikfaan, claping harder onto his wrist, drags Minho all the way to the top of his tower. He dangles him, and the rain starts to pour even harder.

“No!” Minho gasps. “No! No, please! Don’t — don’t kill me!”

Jikfaan hesitates. Junmyeon steps onto the windowsill, about to shout and climb up, until Jikfaan turns, reversing his and Minho’s positions. He drops him onto the roof. “Go,” Jikfaan hisses. “I said I did not wish to kill you. I meant it.”

“Jikfaan!” Junmyeon cries.

The dragon turns his head, elation quickly lighting up his features. He flips and darts quickly toward him, gliding through the now-drizzle with ease. “Junmyeon!” he shouts in response. “You came back!”

“I ha —”

Whatever Junmyeon has to say is interrupted by the cold fear manifesting in his gut. The look of joy Jikfaan gave him morphs into confusion, then pain, and the dragon crashes into the tower. An arrow sticks out from his side, right in the spot where his scale failed to grow back. Neither of them had noticed Minho sprinting across the tower’s roof as Jikfaan turned to go to Junmyeon. Neither of them saw as Minho reached back into his quiver to grab the only arrow he had left, drawing his bow taut, and sent it soaring through the air to puncture Jikfaan’s exposed chest.

Minhoi is the greatest hunter in the entire village, but it is not a fact that any of them needed to prove.

Jikfaan slams into his tower, half in the room and almost crushing Junmyeon. His other half dangles out of the window. His weight shakes the entire structure. The tower shudders, Minho’s balance falters, and he hurtles toward the ground with a cry.

Junmyeon cares little for how he fares — the height is a death sentence, anyways — and he scrambles to drag Jikfaan fully into the tower. Pure adrenaline is what powers his strength, and while he previously needed Chanyeol to carry him, he now just has desperation. It helps him get the rest of Jikfaan’s body to safety — or, at least, to keep him from plummeting to his death alongside Minho. The dragon is barely breathing.

“Oh,” he gasps. He drops to his knees and cradles Jikfaan’s head in his lap. The rain almost stops, mere light drops pattering around them. Junmyeon’s face is wet more by his tears than the rain and they drip onto Jikfaan’s own.

“You came back,” Jikfaan repeats. His eyes roll up slowly to look at him through heavy lids. His breathing is labored, blood dripping from his wound. The arrow’s in deep, and Junmyeon knows he can’t do anything to ease his suffering.

“Of _course_ I came back,” he whispers. “I couldn’t let them just… This is all my fault. If i’d come sooner, I would’ve… I could’ve…”

Jikfaan shakes his head. The movement is laborious, the life leaving him. “Maybe it’s better this way.”

“No,” Junmyeon hisses. “Don’t talk like that. You’ll be okay. We’re together now. I’ll go find help, and everything will be okay. I promise.”

“At least I got to see you… one… last time.” Jikfaan lifts a paw and Junmyeon takes it quickly, bringing it to his lips. It’s so cold. Despite being covered in scales and ostensibly able to control cold weather, Jikfaan always radiated warmth. Now, there is nothing left.

“Don’t say things like that. You’ll be okay.” Junmyeon intends it to be a sharp reprimand, but it comes out more as a hopeless sob. He goes ignored; Jikfaan’s head gets heavier in his lap, eyes fluttering shut, and his paw goes limp in Junmyeon’s grasp. He exhales one last time, and then his chest stops moving altogether. The rain stops entirely.

He’s gone.

Junmyeon screams. He’s frantic, sobbing. He doesn’t want to believe it, even as the chilling proof is right before him. It can’t be true. It _can’t_. He folds himself over Jikfaan’s head, wrapping his arms tightly around the motionless, cold cranium. “No,” he howls. “Please! Please don’t leave me!” He cradles Jikfaan’s head, bringing it up to his face. He presses his lips to Jikfaan’s mouth. “ _I love you_.”

He lays there in silence after his words, shifting so that he lies next to the dragon’s corpse, curled into his side. The cacophony of the villagers’ ransacking and vandalism has ceased — or maybe it hasn’t, and he just can’t hear it. Just as he can’t hear the steady rhythm of Jikfaan’s heartbeat, or the rumble of his breathing as he rests his head on his chest. He feels numb, useless. There’s nothing he can do.

Then, a flash of light hits him. Or, rather, he’s caught in the light. He squints up at the sky, trying to glare at where the clouds dare to part. He doesn’t have a chance to identify the spot, however, before he gets gentled lifted away. An unseen force picks him up, placing him down on the side, and then moves to lift Jikfaan in the air.

The dragon is guided to the sky, and then his form explodes into whiteness. Junmyeon quickly averts his gaze, wincing at the sting. He covers his eyes with an arm, only lowering it when the light fades, and a voice calls out, “Junmyeon!”

Jikfaan’s body has vanished, and a stranger has taken his place. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with long black hair tumbling past his shoulders. Dressed in plain white robes, the strange man smiles at him. He plants a hand on his chest, an impressively large paw. “Junmyeon,” he says again, “it’s me! Jikfaan!”

“What?” Junmyeon can only muster a murmur. Everything about it is absurd, and he’s stuck between grief and confusion. He knows that Jikfaan was once a man But it was hard to imagine him as anything other than a dragon. And, rather glaringly, he should’ve been dead. Junmyeon watched him _die_. “H-how?”

“Your love saved me,” the man calling himself Jikfaan says breathlessly. “When you said you loved me, you broke my curse and saved my life.” He reaches forward to clasp Junmyeon’s hands, simultaneously tugging him into his broad chest. The gesture makes him start, and while he knows that he should be pushing the man away, he can’t help but let himself sink into the other’s embrace.

At this position, Junmyeon gets a better look at him. The man’s entire face is chiseled. He has a sharp jaw and his cheekbones slope beautifully. His eyebrows, thick and dark, slant downwards in what should be an angry furrow, were it not for the joy on his face. His nose is straight and austere, his mouth small and plump-lipped. He grins broadly, exposing white teeth and pink gums.

Junmyeon reaches his eyes last. They exude tenderness, a warm brown. They are soft, gentle. There’s an innocence, a curiosity. Shyness, apprehension, nervousness. He looks at Junmyeon with such kindness, longing, and love that the realization strikes him across the face and grips his heart in a vice grip. He _knows_ these eyes. He _knows_ this man.

“Jikfaan,” Junmyeon breathes, feeling tears come to his eyes anew. “Jikfaan, it’s you!”

“It’s me,” Jikfaan agrees.

Junmyeon doesn’t know what else to do except reach up and kiss him, and so he does. They don’t need to speak; the touching of their lips says enough. Jikfaan kisses him back, and the sky clears, revealing the sun.

…

Junmyeon never wanted his wedding to be particularly extravagant. It was meant to be an intimate day shared between himself and the person he loved. But, marrying the second prince of the Southern Westland carried a degree of prestige and, subsequently, quite the ludicrous excessiveness. He didn’t mind, eventually. Jikfaan’s family was overjoyed to have him back. They were horrified that he completely slipped his mind — by no fault of their own, as the enchantress had cast a spell to make it so the world forgot everyone in Banwolseong — and took him back with open arms.

They were more hesitant, however, to accept the fact that Jikfaan wanted to marry a man of common (if not mysterious) birth. Barring his wedding, Junmyeon had never been more nervous than when he met Jikfaan’s family. His siblings, Yifung, Sai, and Jatwon, were kind and accepting, but his parents were more wary than they were grateful. Jikfaan had then taken them aside to tell them something Junmyeon wasn’t privy to, and their attitude wholly changed. They quickly gave their blessing to the union, and so the wedding was on.

Jikfaan’s original guest list contained nearly everyone in the Southern Westland’s capital, but Junmyeon protested. There was no need to force hundreds of people who barely knew them to go to their wedding. As it was a ‘political’ affair, being the wedding of a prince and all, it needed a large audience. But Junmyeon didn’t want too much. So they settled on the town. It was fortunate that no one got seriously injured in the siege of the castle. After taking the appropriate time to mourn Minho’s loss, they set the date.

Even now, having declared Jikfaan his husband and tying their lives together for eternity, it was hard to wrap his head around the fact that the beautiful man kissing behind his ear in an incredibly public place was Jikfaan the dragon. Junmyeon has no complaints, truly, but it was still strange. It’s a little difficult to adjust, though the kisses (however embarrassing) help quite a bit.

He grins at Jikfaan as he raises his hand to his lips, fingers still joined by the crimson thread wrapped to their wrists. “I love you,” he tells him, still relishing the words as they roll off his tongue. He could tell him those three words forever.

Jikfaan’s eyes crinkle at the corners as his smile broadens. Junmyeon loves his smile, a brilliant light that would’ve put Jongdae’s flames to shame.

Speaking of the mouthy candle, Junmyeon was absolutely flabbergasted to learn that he was the third prince of Banwolseong. Jongdae and Jikfaan had shared a good laugh over it, and the former waved off Junmyeon’s apologies for his potentially rude behavior while Jongdae’s head and hands still held wax. The revelation of Jongdae’s station made Minseok’s less of a shock. Junmyeon was still surprised to learn that he had been in the presence of royalty besides Jikfaan — even more so when he learned the thrones planted in the Audience Chamber were actually the king and queen themselves.

Of course, the royal family of Banwolseong had to have gone _somewhere_ , but for whatever reason, Junmyeon never once thought they might be dwelling within their own walls. When Minseok had told him they were grieving, he had thought they left — died, even, when Minseok said they hadn’t lasted a week. But they’ve been there the whole time, one of the many surprises he was lambasted with after the curse was broken. From the revelations of the servants’ true forms to two of them not even being actual servants at all, there wasn’t a shortage of amazement for him.

Rather, everything post-transformation was a shock. He struggles to link faces to names even still at his own wedding. Some are easy to remember, like Jongdae’s kittenish simper and Tao’s dark-ringed eyes (as well as the boy’s height, though Junmyeon would never admit it). Lu Han, however, comes to him easily. Strikingly beautiful, the manservant continued to stay loyally at his prince’s side. The festivities managed to coerce him to leave the happy couple alone for a few moments, but he comes trotting back to their side soon enough.

“Quite a celebration,” he marvels, beaming. He stands before them both, appraising them. Junmyeon fidgets in his red robes, the rich embroidery seemingly no longer impressive under Lu Han’s scrutiny. His _samogwandae_ contrasts with Jikfaan’s _xuanduan_ , black with red decorations lining the sleeves and sash around his waist. But he still senses criticism in Lu Han’s gaze. Not that the other man ever voices it. “I’m very happy for you both. And not just because you broke the curse. You both deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you,” Junmyeon responds sincerely. Jikfaan’s fingers grip his tighter. They won’t be undoing the sash until later that night, after they’ve consummated their marriage. The mere thought of it has him turning as red as his clothing.

Lu Han turns his eyes to Jikfaan. A moment of unspoken communication passes between them. Junmyeon, at times, still finds himself jealous of their wordless closeness. He has this camaraderie with his siblings, but it just isn’t the _same_. Lu Han and Jikfaan are soulmates, different from how JIkfaan and Junmyeon are soulmates. A selfish part of him wants to be the only one Jikfaan has. Their conversation concludes without a word being spoken aloud, Lu Han bids Junmyeon yet another congratulations and takes his leave to find his younger brother, vanishing into the crowd.

“What was _that_ about?” Junmyeon asks. He’s glad their little pavilion is away from prying ears. It allows him the minimalist intimacy he’d always wanted. His free hand cups Jikfaan’s cheek, turning his head to press a kiss to his lips.

Jikfaan nuzzles him, knocking their foreheads together gently. “I hope you’re not too tired,” he murmurs softly against Junmyeon’s mouth. “There’s still one surprise left in store.” It’s a semi-answer to his question. The opening non-sequitur just catches him off guard.

“A surprise?” They planned the day down to a tee. Every guest was accounted for, cultural customs of both their kingdoms carefully adhered to. The alimentation was carefully curated down to the last spice. He wondered how Jikfaan managed to sneak this surprise of his right under Junmyeon’s nose. Clearly he wasn’t alone in doing so. Junmyeon loves him dearly, but the prince cannot keep a secret to save his life.

Jikfaan switches his attention back to their guests. He locks his eyes with someone, and gives a near imperceptible nod of his head. Without turning to look at him, Jikfaan kisses his temple lightly. “I really think you’ll enjoy it,” he says quietly. “Siwon even helped with it.” _Ah_ , so that’s who it was.

At that, Junmyeon’s intrigue has reached maximum capacity. It’s time to turn on the charm.

To his immense surprise, it doesn’t work. No amount of pleading eyes would seem to sway Jikfaan into revealing what it was, probably because Jikfaan refuses to look at him. The man’s learned well. He decides instead to scan the seven long tables to see who his husband (his heart tightens with joy at the word) was looking at. Jikfaan surely isn’t the worst liar in the room. He rakes his eyes over the space several times over, to no avail.

In the end, they decide to come to him instead. He spots Jongdae and Minseok rising to their feet. They make their way over to the pavilion at the front of the room. While partially hidden from the tables closest to the wall by the tiny marriage pavilion, made out of Jikfaan’s old bed, the two princes’ approach draws all attention to the newly-wedded pair.

Minseok is the first to bow, folding neatly at his waist, followed swiftly by Jongdae. Jikfaan tells them to dispense with the formalities. Junmyeon starts to fidget in anticipation. He’s never been normal around the pair since he learned who they really are.

“Prince Jikfaan,” addresses Minseok. He looks especially regal in his blue hanbok, as blue as the deep sea. “On behalf of the Eastern Kingdom, we thank you for your years of service. Despite your age, you rose to the occasion when we fell mad with grief. As I’m sure all those present now remember, my younger brother was stolen away at infancy. Try as we might to find his captors, we were unable to find any sign of him. Though we hoped he still lived, we were heartbroken when a scrap of his blanket was returned to us, stained with blood.”

“While we mourned, you took responsibility for our kingdom,” Jongdae continues. “It seems, however, you have also taken responsibility for finding our brother. Our presumptions were, evidently, correct. My older brother was still alive. He was taken, then abandoned, deemed inconvenient. But the heavens were merciful, and the little baby dumped in the trash was taken into the family of a merchant named Choi Siwon.”

Junmyeon blinks. “Wait…” He cranes his head, trying to catch a glimpse of his adoptive father.

“We are forever in your debt for bringing him back to us,” Minseok says. He bows again to Jikfaan, kissing the ring on the prince’s unoccupied hand. The older prince then turns to Junmyeon and falls to his knees. He takes Junmyeon’s free hand and presses his lips to his ring finger. Jongdae mirrors his posture. “Prince Junmyeon, I should have told you this the moment you set in the castle. Welcome home.”

A silence drifts across the entire room. It had already quieted when the prince started talking, but now one could hear the drop of a pin. This is not the surprise Junmyeon had been expecting — though it would hardly be a surprise if he _did_ expect it — and the absence of speech almost becomes worrisome. He can see how Minseok and Jongdae are holding their breath, hear the gentle rustling of fabric as Jikfaan shifts on his knees.

Nothing is registering for Junmyeon. His mind keeps replaying the Eastern Princes’ words. He knows what they mean, but he still doesn’t understand. Junmyeon turns to Jikfaan, who smiles encouragingly. There is a deep silence in the room. One could almost hear the first tear slip down Junmyeon’s cheek. “They… _You_ …”

“You told me you always wanted to find your old family. To ask them why you were left behind. We all had our suspicions,” Jikfaan tells him. “We just put our heads together, and it became all too obvious… my prince.”

He turns back to Minsok. Both he and Jongdae stare at him with hopeful eyes. Junmyeon’s breaths become strained, short spurts as sobs begin to building his chest. He flings himself forward, throwing his arms around Minseok and Jongdae. The movement jostles Jikfaan with him, and he joins in the embrace with a good-natured laugh. Junmyeon heaves into his elder brother’s shoulder, his blubbering indecipherable even to himself. It might have had something to do with how glad he was to find him, but he couldn’t care less if anything he said made sense. They were _here_. The blood family he always dreamed of. Jikfaan poked and pried, and it took Junmyeon a month even after the curse was broken to admit he always wondered who and where they were.

Distantly, he hears the hall erupting into applause. He looks up at the nearby rustle of fabric; Siwon stands beside the king and queen, who look at him apprehensively. Junmyeon gets to his feet with some difficulty, bogged down by Jikfaan. He eventually maneuvers himself upright, and Minseok makes room for his parents.

Even after their introduction, after their return to human form, they’ve never spoken at length. He was much too occupied (smitten, if he was being honest) with Jikfaan to give anyone else the time of day, and he always figured it too awkward to speak to them. He didn’t know what to say, as the son of a merchant to a king and queen. And, to think, all this time… all those months, the thrones he’d passed by while strolling with a draconic Jikfaan were his birth parents the whole time.

There’s no chance for Junmyeon to save face. He looks ugly when he cries, he knows, and he’s crying particularly hard right now.

“Junmyeon,” the king exhales. “That’s a good name. Better than Damdeok, at any rate. It suits you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Junmyeon hiccups. He folds himself into the king’s hold. While Siwon was the man who raised him and cared for him for over twenty years, the Eastern king was the man who _created_ him, and the man who mourned him for just as long. It feels surreal, knowing finally after all this time who the people ought to have called his parents were.

Without warning, he’s pulled roughly away into the queen’s arms. Her tears and wails match his, and she runs her hands all over him as if to absorb all of the years of growth she had missed. She squeezes his face. “Oh, my _boy_ ,” she says, managing to avoid slurring her words despite her heaving. “Oh, Junmyeon. I’m so proud of you. You lived a happy life, and that’s all we ever wanted for you. And now you’ve even saved us all. I’m so _proud_ of you.” The queen buries her head into his chest.

Junmyeon looks up, catching Siwon’s eye. The merchant smiles, still tinged with sadness. Minho’s death had affected him greatly; though the man was an arrogant ass, he was still Siwon’s son. The circumstances of Minho’s death hadn’t been ideal. They buried him with ceremony, even after what he had done to Jikfaan, but Siwon still had to bury a son. His flesh and blood, all that he had left of his late wife. A man as kind as Siwon deserved more.

And now it must hurt, seemingly losing Junmyeon to two different camps — Jikfaan, and his birth family. Junmyeon extends his hand, and yanks Siwon into the hug as soon as the man takes it. He makes sure that the older man knows he’s included in this unit too; he’s as much family as the others. Without him, Junmyeon wouldn’t be here.

Jikfaan joins in, and then Minseok, Jongdae, and his father. They don’t stand for very long when Junmyeon’s other siblings leap unceremoniously in, knocking them all into a heap on the ground. The applause and cheer morph into laughter, and Junmyeon can’t help but join in.

It almost feels like a dream. The day being his wedding already made him feel like he was floating on clouds. To have his other dream, to know his birth family and to have them be there as he wed, have them _love_ him, is almost just too much for him to bear. Pulling his head from the queen's grasp, he turns to Jikfaan. The prince smiles at him gently, and goes to meet him halfway when Junmyeon leans up to kiss him.

Surrounded by the warmth of people who love him, Junmyeon feels at peace.


End file.
